


Ineffable Bastards

by Pendragyn



Series: Ineffable Bastards Universe [7]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), A lot of worldbuilding, Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Bad Puns, Discworld References, Discworld Witches, Discworld Wizards, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I think I'm hilarious anyway, Kissing, Loose Canon, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Nonbinary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Nonbinary Celestials, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Post-Canon, Queer Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), So much worldbuilding, This Is A Book In Disguise, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, everything is fast when you move slower than tectonic plates, they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2020-07-20 16:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 224,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pendragyn/pseuds/Pendragyn
Summary: The world didn’t end, but everything changed, and the reformed angel and the former demon decide to forge a new path together after breaking free, and neither hell nor holy water is going to stop them now.They have their own side to look out for, and it's a lot bigger than just the two of them. Which is good because you can’t fight heaven and hell alone. (Well you can try, but…) Along the way they make an arrangement of mutual trust with some witches and wizards and end up saving the world, and each other, again.[The previous works in the series "Ineffable Bastards Universe" are all worldbuilding for this one, starting from "In The Garden".]





	1. Early Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine, if you will, being a spectator of an obscure and complex variant of poker, in a room that’s somehow too bright and too dark at the same time, with cards you can’t comprehend and a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time. 
> 
> At least, you think it’s poker. But the Dealer can do things you’re pretty sure they aren’t allowed to do in real games. You don’t say anything however, because the players at the table seem to be playing their own games within games, sliding cards and chips and dice and markers and the occasional crossword puzzle across the table, sometimes outright stealing from each other. 
> 
> The players are so involved with their own games that none of them notice when the Dealer pulls a pair of chess pieces from the discards pile and sets them down in front of an empty spot at the table that hadn’t been there a minute ago but had also always been there. “Queen’s Playing,” the Dealer announces, and goes on grinning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They survived the world not ending but they've burned their bridges (while standing on them) and have to figure out what to do next.

Crowley led Aziraphale off the bus, waiting until it had pulled away to turn towards their building, feeling a twinge to know the Bentley was gone. They felt another twinge when they looked at Aziraphale who was staring up at the building with a distant blankness of expression that Crowley understood all too well. “C’mon, angel, I think we could both use a drink.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale hoarsely. The angel felt strangely distant from their feelings as they trailed behind the demon into the flat, which was both nothing like and exactly what Aziraphale had expected from Crowley. It was sleek and sharply modern and also coldly impersonal in most ways, aside from the odd pieces of art and the plants. The art got a few blinks from Aziraphale but there was no energy to analyze what they might mean after the ~~day~~ ~~week~~ decade they’d had.

The kitchen was slick with creamy white marble and terrazzo tiles, ebony cabinets that gleamed and stainless steel appliances that had never been used or even plugged in, though they were well stocked with food and drink. Crowley grabbed a bottle at random and a couple of glasses, bringing them over to the chrome and glass table with a small collection of colorful orchids in the center. “ _Salute_.”

Aziraphale huffed and lifted their glass to toast before downing the drink and holding it out for a refill. Crowley obliged and they sat in silence for a while before Aziraphale asked, “Now what?”

“Now… I fall down and sleep for a while and you, you don’t really sleep do you? You should try it, great for getting away from your thoughts.”

Aziraphale sighed but shook their head. “I don’t think that will work for me, I’m afraid. I just keep thinking about Agnes’ prophecy. Face the fire.” Aziraphale shuddered a little. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Crowley nodded, pulling off the sunglasses and rubbing at their tired eyes. “You’re in big trouble, angel.”

“We,” Aziraphale corrected, smiling a little when Crowley gave them a look. “I’ve toed the line for a long time, but _you’_ _ve_ danced around it, my dear, to the point that I’m not sure they even know where they drew the line to begin with. If heaven is going to ‘fire’ me, what’s going to happen to you?” Saying it aloud had tears burning in their eyes and they wiped at them hastily.

“Eh, they’re not that imaginative,” said Crowley in an effort to soothe, staring down into their glass. “An eternity in the pits being subjected to your worst nightmares. But it never works out that way,” Crowley said with a sneering laugh, finishing their drink and pouring them both more. “Eventually it’s not scary anymore! There’s only so many times you can relive-” Crowley broke off their words, darting a look at Aziraphale and looking away at the understanding in their eyes. “Anyway, I know the elemental who runs the pits, owes me a favor actually, I could get out like that,” they boasted, snapping their fingers and making another full bottle.

“I don’t think it will be quite so easy for me,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of an angel being put to true death before. How lovely to set a precedent.”

That startled a laugh from Crowley. “Never thought you’d be one for gallows humor.”

“Never thought I’d be the one on the gallows,” Aziraphale retorted with a grim smile. “I wonder how they’ll get a hold of the hellfire? I suppose the elementals could do it, but I know they’d make a rather big fuss.”

“Wait, what, they’re going to use _hellfire?_ ” Crowley demanded.

“That’s the only thing angels are really vulnerable to,” Aziraphale reminded them. “Same with demons and holy water I assume?”

Crowley nodded but their thoughts were whirling as an idea popped into their head but exhaustion had it whirling away again. “I need sleep. Are, is that-”

“You should rest,” Aziraphale said lowly, and used one of their lesser known powers to cover up that they were lying when they said, “I’ll be alright. I can just miracle up a book to pass the time.”

“Well, make yourself comfortable,” yawned Crowley, retreating to their bedroom.

Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath and pressed their hands to their eyes before taking the bottle and glass with them and wandering around the flat. Finding what remained of Ligur was unpleasant but the angel quickly miracled it away, laughing a little to see the opulent desk and chair. “Oh, Crowley.” They left the office and continued their wandering, trying to find a place that didn’t feel too big and empty.

They went past an oddly familiar statue of a giant bird and then down another hall, surprised to find themself in a glass-walled room that faced the east. Frosted glass gave the room privacy, but it was hardly necessary with the veritable jungle of plants crowded in front of the windows. There was a small potters’ table near the door stacked with empty plant pots and a half-empty bag of potting soil and Aziraphale set the bottle and glass down next to them.

They considered Crowley’s words and snapped their fingers, miracleing up a chaise lounge against the empty western wall. They also conjured up a set of sleep clothes straight out of a production of A Christmas Carol: a sleep shirt, night cap, slippers and a big plush robe to keep the chill out. Aziraphale changed into them and quickly realized they didn’t need the robe, or the night cap, not with how warm Crowley kept the flat. So dressed, they flicked off the lights before stiffly settling themself onto the lounge. Fidgeted around and made a couple pillows. Finally pulled the robe over themself as a blanket and curled onto their side, facing the windows, just barely able to make out the outline of the plants against the sky.

In the soft darkness, tears came then, and Aziraphale let them fall.

∞

Crowley stared into the darkness and swore sharply. They had slept for maybe ten minutes before waking up, and no matter how or where they tried to sleep, they couldn’t. Frustrated, Crowley lurched from the bed with another curse and went in search of Aziraphale and another drink.

Their search started to get a little frantic when they couldn’t find the angel anywhere in the flat, until they heard the quiet sound of sobbing and the demon followed it to the sun room. Silently they eased open the door and stepped inside, easily finding the angel in the darkness and gathering them into their arms. The angel held on tightly and the demon pressed their face into the angel’s shoulder, wishing they could cry too. Wishing for a lot of things that couldn’t be.

When the tears began to subside Crowley started to withdraw but Aziraphale whispered brokenly, “Please,” and Crowley had no resistance to that. Eventually they ended up curled together on the lounge, just holding on to one another, neither saying anything, not know what to say or how to say it.

Sleep crept upon them both and soothed away some of the sharp edges of the day.

∞

Crowley awoke slowly and then with a start as memory returned and with it an idea. They opened their eyes, unsure if they were disappointed or relieved to find themself alone on the lounge, tucked under a plush tartan robe that was still warm from Aziraphale’s presence.

They lingered in the warmth, letting the idea stew as they decided what to do about what had happened with Aziraphale. Resignedly they decided to pretend nothing had happened, as they had done so many times before. It was the work of a moment to miracle themself back into their normal clothes before they eased out of the sun room. They found Aziraphale in the kitchen, still nursing the same bottle, though it was significantly lower than it had been.

“Angel...”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale looked up from pouring themself another drink and slowly lowered the bottle back to the table at the glint shining in Crowley’s eyes. “What?”

“ _I’m_ immune to hellfire.” Crowley did not mention that it still hurt like, ha ha, hell, but it wouldn’t _kill_ them, and if they kept their _cool_ , it wouldn’t even discorporate them.

Aziraphale snorted and started to take another drink. “Of course you’re immune, you’re a _demon_!” When the implication finally penetrated, the angel blinked in realization and shook their head. “But...”

“No, hear me out,” said Crowley, pacing as the idea took hold. “We can switch corporeal forms. You know it’s all but impossible for them to tell us apart when we make an effort. If we actually _switch_? They’d never know! Except that you don’t die!” They leaned on the table to push the point home. “Then I call in my favor and you’re out before you know it. Knowing them, they’ll probably still be reading my ‘crimes’ by the time I’m dusting the ash off your coat.” They were grinning down at Aziraphale, who was staring at them with wide desperate eyes. “We can do it. Trust me.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath and looked away, rubbing at their eyes again. “Crowley, I… I can’t ask this of you. If they figure out that I’m, that you’re-”

“They’re already going to punish us,” Crowley said, impulsively taking Aziraphale’s hands. “If Agnes is right, and she’s been right about everything else, then they’re planning to kill you with hellfire right now.”

Aziraphale stared down at their hands and then back up at Crowley, seeing the desperation in their eyes and slowly nodded in agreement. It took a few tries before they could speak and they asked, “How?”

“Well, er, uh, it’s uh, I mean, it’s just skin and bone, right? We didn’t used to have them, they can, could, give us new ones if we broke them, so…” Crowley looked down at the angel’s hands still clasped in their own and blurted, “Kissing.”

“W-what?”

“I mean, like reverse kissing? The, the celestial version, with the wossname-”

“Auras?”

“Yeah, right, so we figured out ages ago how to keep our auras contained inside, so like maybe if we pull our auras in and push the bodies away at the same time? But also the opposite?”

Aziraphale blinked and had to wonder at themself when they realized they understood what Crowley meant even if the earthbound nature of the language was severely lacking in useful verbiage. “I think I understand. If we withdraw from our forms so that they are almost unbound from us, while pulling at the other form...”

“Yeah! No reason it can’t work, I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

“What if they make us reveal our wings?” Aziraphale worried. “Or ask us things we wouldn’t know or-”

“Angel, they’re not going to do that,” Crowley scoffed. “When was the last time you saw another angel with their wings out, aside from those ridiculous grooming-parties everyone hates? I haven’t seen a demon’s wings in, well never, beside my own. And we can practice the important stuff, right? Tell each other who’s who and all that.” They jiggled Aziraphale’s hands and gave them a cajoling smile. “Right?”

“We might not be able to,” said the angel, staring down at their hands again. “Then what?”

“Ugh, angel, just try.” It took a lot of concentration, and a dash of desperate belief, and they were looking at themselves. Crowley-as-Aziraphale quickly let go of their hands to stare down at their borrowed body, flexing their right hand, disturbed by the surprising weight of Aziraphale’s golden ring. “Well, see, so.”

“So,” said Aziraphale-as-Crowley, rubbing at their right temple where the slightly raised snake mark felt oddly tight and slightly numb. They took the sunglasses and slipped them on and after a moment, unfurled their wings, relieved to see that they had taken on Crowley’s blackened plumage. “That’s useful.”

Crowley-as-Aziraphale also unfurled their wings, staring at the unfamiliar white plumage and shaking their head. “I didn’t expect that.”

“All to our advantage, my, er, angel,” Aziraphale-as-Crowley said, cringing over the stutter. “We need to practice. But...” They looked across at themself, seeing Crowley in the posture and the expression and tried to channel some of the confidence the demon always seemed to have in spades. “Since this might be our last night on earth, would you give me the honor of grooming your wings?” The angel hid their smile at the shock the flashed across their own face. “You can tell me what I need to know while I do. And, er...”

“Only if, uh, only if you’ll let me return the favor,” Crowley-as-Aziraphale responded, feeling completely off kilter at seeing the angel play them. _I wish I was actually that cool. Do they really see me that way?_ When they nodded Crowley turned the chair and straddled it, closing their eyes when the angel began to gently soothe the ruffled feathers. “Alright, so, here’s the main players...”

∞

They had just switched places in the chair when _something_ happened that made both of them shudder. “What was _that_?” asked the demon, sending out their senses but not detecting anything hostile in the area.

The angel was doing the same, but also cast a couple of quick spells, sucking in a shocked gasp at the result they got. “He undid it.”

“Undid what?”

“ _Everything,_ ” said Aziraphale, looking up into their own eyes and shaking their head at the oddness of that. “Adam, he put it back how it was somehow. It wasn’t spell magic.”

“So he wasn’t totally back to being just human then,” said Crowley lowly, gently running their fingers through the angel’s blackened feathers. “Do you think he...”

“Only one way to find out.”

The sun was just beginning to light the sky when Crowley-as-Aziraphale finished grooming their wings, both of them silent as they mentally prepared themself to enact the plan they’d decided on. The demon would go to the bookshop to see what there was to see, while the angel would wait at the flat, and then they would meet in the park and see if anything happened. As they pulled their hands away from the angel’s blackened feathers Crowley blurted, “I’ll find you.”

Aziraphale stood, doing their best to keep themself collected as they nodded. Crowley turned to go but Aziraphale reached out and took their hand for a moment, waiting until their eyes met. “I’ll find you too.”

Crowley gave them a small smile. “I’ll see you in the park, angel.”

“I know you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to write this, yet here we are. *shrug*


	2. Magic Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday morning finds our favorite former angel and former demon trying to figure out what to do with the rest of their lives. [edited Oct. 5 2019 for clarity]

“G’morning, angel,” greeted Crowley, grinning when Aziraphale twitched and spun around. They leaned against the door, attempting for casual and just barely missing the mark. Everything had been missing the mark since the Armageddoff, especially after wearing the angel’s seeming while toasting in hellfire in heaven. Seeing the sneering loathing in the archangel’s expressions as they told Aziraphale to die. The only good of Crowley’s return to heaven had been wiping the sneers off their smug bastard faces. But there was a lingering itch between Crowley’s shoulder-blades that felt an awful lot like a bullseye.

“ _Not_ a good morning,” snapped Aziraphale, flustered by Crowley’s sudden appearance and everything else, so much of Everything Else. Nervous energy had Aziraphale tidying up the nearest surface in a desperate attempt to keep Everything contained. Aziraphale wanted to go back to the old routine, but they were renegades now, with no one to order them but themselves and they were feeling… lost. Especially after wearing Crowley’s seeming amid the jeering crowd in hell. It had been a revelation, hearing the fear covered bravado of the fallen, as they’d watched one of their own be sentenced to obliteration for daring to rebel again. Something had followed the former angel from that place, a sense that something very not good was brewing.

“Under the circumstances, every morning we see is a good morning,” Crowley drawled, flinging themself onto the couch, sprawling as usual. Couldn’t help but smile at Aziraphale’s put upon sigh, leaning back to watch Aziraphale bustle about and quickly realizing that something else was bothering them. They kept looking, looking away, shifting the same few papers back and forth, a crease of worry between their brows.

“Tell me?” Aziraphale froze at those soft words, staring down at the table, hands beginning to tremble, bringing Crowley from sprawl to upright in seconds flat, the dark glasses sliding down the former demon’s nose at the sudden movement. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything!” And so much of that Everything was centered on Crowley, on feelings that had always shimmered below the surface and were repressed by fear and- Aziraphale groaned, eyes closed to keep Crowley from seeing the tears welling there, from revealing too much. It was all too much. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Really now, angel, I know it’s been rough-” Crowley was up and at Aziraphale’s side, at a loss for what to do for their distraught friend. There weren’t any words for what they’d been through together, and now there was a new weight between the old friends, a feeling of fragility that made Crowley worried. _Worried, ha! Admit it old snake, you’re terrified!_

“Rough!” squawked Aziraphale, eyes opening of their own volition to pierce Crowley with an incredulous stare. “Rough?! You…! We could…! And the…! And then the…!” Words wouldn’t come, not when stirred up with incredulousness and the sudden drumming of a treacherously hopeful heart at having Crowley standing so close, lovely eyes full of concern… and Aziraphale longed for more. So much more. _Oh. Oh dear._

“You know what you need? A nice cup of tea, or maybe something a bit stronger, hmm?” Crowley cajoled in a barely concealed panic, guiding Aziraphale to a chair and hastily retreating to whip up a nice hot pot of tea with a splash of something else to help settle Aziraphale’s nerves. Busy hands meant Aziraphale couldn’t see what Crowley didn’t want them to see. Whatever that was. Probably nothing. Need a good long nap, that’s all. Century or two should do it. _Right? Right._ Nothing to do with that growing itch between the shoulder-blades. Or other complicated things. “There you go.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aziraphale conceded, accepting the cup with a small grateful smile, relieved that the trembling and pounding heart had subsided while Crowley was making the tea. “It has been a bit of a trying morning. There was a letter in the post, some official thinking I haven’t paid some bill or another!”

“Really?” Crowley relaxed back into their chair, sipping from a cup of considerably more ‘splash’ than tea while the ex-angel complained about the letter and early morning visit of said official, and it was almost like being back to _before,_ until they were interrupted by someone entering the shop. Aziraphale hesitated, and Crowley could see the internal battle they waged for a second before they pushed out of the chair with a murmured apology. The former angel graced Crowley with a tiny grateful smile when the former demon also stood up and gestured for Aziraphale to lead the way back into the main area of the shop.

“Ah, Mrs. Ogg, I wasn’t expecting you today!” Aziraphale visibly perked up, surprising Crowley by greeting the old woman warmly. She was round and quite wrinkled, with a cackling laugh and the lingering scent of cat and pipe tobacco on her clothes. “This is my, ah, my friend, A. J. Crowley. Crowley, Mrs. Gytha Ogg.” She gave Crowley a knowing once over and a grinning wink before letting Aziraphale shuffle her away to talk in semi-privacy.

They conspired together near one of the shelves, Aziraphale beaming when the old lady cackled at something they’d said. Crowley slouched against the nearest shelf with feigned disinterest, straining to hear what they were talking about, but the ex-angel knew the shop, and Crowley, too well to allow eavesdropping. They talked for a few moments before she pulled a small paper wrapped package from her ratty bag, which Aziraphale quickly attempted to hide, slipping her a small fat envelope which she made vanish with much more success. They began moving back towards the door and Crowley made sure to not be looking in their direction. “I appreciate this very much, Mrs. Ogg. I really never thought I’d get my hands on it. Do let me know if you find any other interesting finds!”

“Coo-ee, almost forgot, found something odd when I was out and about and it made me think of you,” she announced, digging around in the bottom of her bag. She held up the singed scrap of paper in triumph before dropping it into Aziraphale’s outstretched hand. Crowley peered at the paper, feeling a shiver a dread. _That bloody witch and her bloody prophecies-_ A quick flare of the senses made it clear that the Ogg woman was a witch as well, but her quick little warning look forbade probing any deeper and Crowley pointedly looked away, feigning a yawn. There was a moment more of muted talking before they parted with a handshake and Aziraphale waved at her from the door.

“How lucky was that?” Aziraphale led Crowley back into the back, filing away the paper for later and settling back into their chair. The reformed angel sipped their tea with a pleased sigh that almost turned into a hiccup when Crowley’s leg brushed against their own as the former demon sprawled on their chair. _I just need to keep busy with bookish things and stop wishing for… It has been rough, that’s all, and things will settle down now. Back to how things were._

“Eh? What was _that_ all about?” Crowley asked, trying for bored disinterest and failing, trying to ignore the way Aziraphale had almost inhaled their tea when Crowley had dropped back into their chair and their legs had touched under the table. _Stupid._ The way they’d flinched but hadn’t drawn away. _Stupid fool. Looking for meaning in everything. One day you’ll go too far, but that’s your pattern isn’t it? Stupid soddin’ fool._

The reformed angel made a concerted effort to act relaxed. “That, my dear, was me reacquiring a signed first edition I had the misfortune to sell back in 1904! Now I know I really shouldn’t have engaged Mrs. Ogg’s services, but really, the estate was being entirely unreasonable! I offered a perfectly acceptable amount for the book six months ago-”

“That, what, you what?” stuttered Crowley, all sorts of impossibilities coming to mind, glasses slipping down as they sat up to stare at the reformed angel in surprise. Those who could hear thoughts, had they been metaphysically eavesdropping on the not-a-demon-anymore, would have heard the mental equivalent of a record scratch noise. “Did you hire her to _steal_ for you?”

“Goodness, no! Crowley, really, the things you say sometimes!” There was a blush darkening the ex-angel’s cheeks and a pointed lack of eye contact that had Crowley gasping in amazement.

“No… you didn’t? You did! Angel!” A shocked little laugh escaped Crowley.

“Under no circumstances would I ever resort to _stealing_ ,” Aziraphale chided, but the blush was not fading. “I… May have hired her to… apply leverage.” There was definitely no way Aziraphale would meet Crowley’s eyes while confessing such a shameless act.

“Now, tell me!” demanded Crowley gleefully. “What did she do?”

“Er, well… She’s a, well, you sensed she was a witch I assume? Well she, in her youth-” The retired angel could not stop blushing as the tale unfolded, of how Mrs. Ogg, while now a (mostly) respectable well known nurse and midwife, had in her younger days been a little bit easy with her affections. And very easy to talk to. With a very good memory. And a penchant for writing things down. And not at all shy about her interest in making some money in these hard times.

“I am shocked, Aziraphale!” Crowley could barely keep from chortling, seeing the poor ex-angel in a dither over something so mundane as indulging in a little bit of “leverage”.

Laughter turned to regret at Aziraphale’s dismayed expression and Crowley’s heart ached to see the tears well in the ex-angel’s eyes. “It was terrible of me, wasn’t it? It was just a book, but I wanted it and they’d made me angry, refusing to sell it to me. I told myself they deserved it. Oh Crowley, what am I to do? I really have fallen, haven’t I?”

“Give over, you have not fallen,” Crowley scolded, voice hoarse with anger and yes, resentment, pressing a black handkerchief into Aziraphale’s hands. “You really think something this mild, this _human_ , would do it? After Eden? After six thousand years of _fraternizing_ with a _fiend_? After stopping the bloody apocalypse in spite of the Great Plan? You’re too damned _nice_ to fall!”

“Am I?” It felt like a slap, the way Crowley said the word, but the reformed angel couldn’t say they didn’t deserve it. _Nice._ They had thrown that word, dagger-like, at Crowley quite often. “But I’m not particularly kind, am I Crowley?” Aziraphale stared down at the black cloth twisted between their fingers, the silence dragging on and the words spilled out almost against their will.

“I’ve been terrible to you; selfishly risking your safety, letting you rescue me from my own folly time and again but always feeling superior because I was the _nice_ one. I had picked the ‘ _right_ ’ side and just had to rub your nose in it. Some friend I am!” Self-loathing brought a new sharpness to Aziraphale’s voice. “Angels shouldn’t take advantage of other people’s kindness! So, I’ve never been much of an angel either, have I?” Aziraphale’s mutable blue eyes, full of unshed tears and enough feelings to drown an old snake twice over, looked up beseechingly. “I am so sorry Crowley, I-”

 _ **Mmrring!** _They both started, staring at the dusty old phone. Crowley’s throat felt as dry as a desert, a lump formed where unspoken words had lodged and stuck. Desperate for escape, afraid of what the reformed angel’s next words would be, Crowley leaped to answer when the phone rang again. A few coughs cleared the lump enough to allow a bored, “Hallo?”

“A. Z. Fell?” It was a woman’s voice, sharp and old and clearly meaning business.

“No, that would be my associate,” Crowley drawled, daring a glance at Aziraphale, who was beginning to pull back from whatever blasted precipice _that_ had been. “Be along shortly. May I ask who’s calling?”

Crowley waited, and waited, and just when it seemed like the caller had hung up, “This is Miss E. Weatherwax. I have a package for A. Z. Fell.”

“Great, we’ll come right over to pick it up. Ciao!” There was a quick affronted gasp but Crowley had hung up before she could respond, twirling on Aziraphale with a slightly manic smile. “ _Lovely_ Miss E. Weatherwax with a package for you. Get your coat.”

Even with Crowley’s prodding it took Aziraphale a good ten minutes to get sorted out. Directions given, Crowley zoomed out into traffic, staring stonily at the road as they drove out into the countryside, Freddy Mercury serenading them. Thoughts of a very disquieting nature would not stop churning in the not-a-demon-anymore’s mind, going around and around like some sort of hel- infer- awful carousel. And beneath it all, the itch was becoming harder to ignore.

They rode without speaking for almost the entire drive until Aziraphale realized the danger they might be going into. Especially in Crowley’s case. “I really don’t know that you should come in,” Aziraphale said, darting little worried looks in Crowley’s direction. The reformed angel was having a hard time reading the expression Crowley made in response, something between a grimace and sneer. _Oh dear, if I can’t even say this without ruining things,_ Aziraphale couldn’t help but think, hands fisted in coat pockets to hide their trembling, _how can I dare say any of **that**? _“It’s just, Miss Weatherwax is...”

There was a drawn out pause that finally pulled Crowley’s eyes over to Aziraphale, looking hunched and miserable in the passenger seat. _Need a distraction or we’ll be going over the edge for sure this time._ “She can’t be that bad.”

“She _is_ ,” Aziraphale insisted with a small shudder, trying to focus on the matter at hand in spite of the growing ache over the reformed angel’s heart. “I usually hire someone to get my packages from her. Keep my distance.”

“Wot, another witch?” guessed Crowley, making a dismissive noise at the ex-angel’s hesitant nod. “You’ve got a right little coven going on,” the ex-demon snorted, garnering a halfhearted mewl of protest from Aziraphale. “So what’s this one do, hex the pensioners into selling you their dusty old tomes? Threaten them with warts and uh, what, bunions? That’s a thing, right?”

“She does no such thing,” Aziraphale scolded primly, rising to the bait as always. And feeling just the slightest bit reassured; their banter was solid ground, basically bedrock, while everything else about their strange friendship had turned into a sucking quagmire of doubts and regrets. “I will have you know that she’s a craftswoman and herbalist. She keeps bees. Very respectable.”

“Bees eh,” said Crowley, pulling up in front of the cottage Aziraphale indicated. It was on the edge of some nowhere little village built around the ruins of some ancient keep that hadn’t seen better days since a millennia earlier. The cottage itself looked to be even older than the keep, the front garden packed to overflowing with plants growing in lush but orderly fashion, garnering grudging respect from Crowley. The cottage’s land sat on the edge of a seemingly ancient forest Crowley had been sure didn’t actually exist in the world anymore. “You know what they say about women who keep beessss,” Crowley hissed, just to tease some good humor back into their friend’s expression.

“They don’t say anything about women with ‘beessss’,” Aziraphale protested, trying not to smile at Crowley’s playful smirk. Aziraphale frowned and quickly clambered out of the car when Crowley hopped out and started for the gate. “Wait!” The ex-angel breathed a sigh of relief when Crowley turned without touching the old wood. “We’ll go round back. She usually leaves the packages out back for pickup. Maybe she’s out on business,” said Aziraphale with a bit of hope.

They went around the side, past a battered old Fiat, to where the back garden overwhelmed them. Eyes closed against the dizzying riot of colors, Crowley inhaled the green freshness and the sweetness of the rainbow of blooms, and felt for just a moment, like they were somehow back then, with the glory of the Garden around them. With a shudder Crowley shook off the feeling, though the smells were inescapable. It was almost a relief to see poisonous herbs that hadn’t existed in that idyllic place. “Interesting choice of plants.”

Aziraphale had walked farther into the garden and was still enraptured by the scents and felt a little dazed to realize Crowley had spoken. “Oh, um, sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, interesting choice of plants,” Crowley repeated, pointing to a pretty array of blooms. “Foxglove, Nightshade, Rosy Periwinkle, all poisonous.”

“Most medicine is.” They both turned towards the voice, though Crowley could barely see her through the plants. It was another old woman, this one tall and thin, her steel gray hair pulled back in a severe bun. She gave Aziraphale a brisk nod. “I got your things ready, same as last time.”

Aziraphale let out a relieved breath when that was all she said. “I really do appreciate it, Miss Weatherwax,” the reformed angel smiled, moving closer to the porch. In exchange for a thick envelope, which vanished just as quickly as Mrs. Ogg’s had, she held outa battered old crate stacked with jars and things. When she went to stack another one on top, Aziraphale’s hand slipped.

Crowley jumped to help, catching the top crate before it could topple. The ex-angel’s grateful look had Crowley ginning slyly. “Careful there, angel, wouldn’t want to upset the beesss.” The sly grin vanished completely when Miss Weatherwax gave them A Look and suddenly there was a sharp edge to everything and the smell of ozone in the air. “ _What the-”_

“You keep strange company, _friend_ ,” she said coldly to Aziraphale, who looked extremely worried, but her eyes never left Crowley, who didn’t dare move. Some primordial instinct knew better than that. Six thousand years seemed like a blink compared to what was in her eyes as she stared down though Crowley into G- Sa- Someone only knew where.

Aziraphale set down the crate and hurried to distract the witch from whatever it was she was doing to Crowley, who looked to have turned to stone. “Oh, Miss Weatherwax, really, Crowley isn’t- I mean, yes, _technically,_ but at heart-” The words stuttered away as she turned her gaze on Aziraphale, who went cold with fear. _I knew coming here was a bad idea. Why do I always let Crowley tempt me into things I know we’ll regret later?_ “Leave Crowley alone,” Aziraphale got out before breathing became impossible. But then Crowley was pressed between Aziraphale and the witch, and Aziraphale sagged against Crowley’s shoulder, gasping.

Miss Weatherwax blinked, then blinked again, seeing far more than either of them realized, and the dangerous feeling went out of the air. “Is that the way of it then,” she said, unfazed by Crowley’s silent snarling glower. “You’ve got a nerve, I’ll give you that, old snake.” Aziraphale stiffened at her tone, more defenses for Crowley ready to jumble out but the witch just shook her head at the pair of them. “At least you chose the right side this time.”

She snorted in amusement at their shock. “Imagine, thinking you’re the only ones, in a world this big and old. Did you think we wouldn’t notice what was happening in our own back yard?” She shook her head at them again when neither of them answered and clomped back into the cottage, closing the door with a faint dismissive _thud_.

They didn’t dawdle, scurrying to the car with the crates and peeling away down the road almost before Aziraphale had closed the door. Crowley seared the former angel with a look. “That was no mere witch!”

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide but weren’t focused on the road but instead inward, thinking furiously. “She… oh. Yes, I suppose that’s true-”

“Angel,” growled Crowley.

“Well we don’t mix do we? We and the… others. They’re mostly lumped in with yo- with demons, but they’re not, though, are they? Can’t have Fallen when you weren’t Risen to begin with.” Aziraphale’s mind was racing. “I mean, I know we’re not supposed to talk about _the before_ but we all know there was one even if we can’t remember it. We fought some of them off, didn’t we, when the Garden was new? And there are _other books_ , of course, older ones...”

Crowley was about to growl again when understanding hit. Other supernatural beings, other gods. “What, are you saying she-”

The reformed angel shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what she is. She said she was a witch so I always felt it was best left alone.”

“Whose side is she on?”

Aziraphale laughed faintly. “I think she’s on whatever side she wants to be on. I’m just glad she’s not on _their_ side.”

Their eyes met and held before they both broke away with a shudder at the idea, staring silently out at the road as they made the long drive back. One more thing to worry about. _But the big thing is over for now,_ thought Crowley, darting a glance at Aziraphale, who looked a million miles away. _Has to be._ But that worrying itch between Crowley’s shoulder blades only seemed to grow with that thought.

**∞**

Back at the bookstore Aziraphale made an effort to shake off the worries that were beginning to make their wings itch, ignoring Crowley’s restless prowling and uncrating the items Miss Weatherwax had prepared while Crowley poured them both drinks. It wasn’t like the not-a-demon-anymore to linger, but Aziraphale wasn’t about to complain. The not-an-angel-anymore didn’t really want to be alone either. “Ooh, excellent, I’ll certainly have enough to finish the manuscripts.”

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale’s happy cooing, curiosity far too strong to keep away. “What is all this then? Looks like old fashioned ink?” The cap was open and Crowley sniffed before Aziraphale could stop their impulsive friend, who regretting it immediately. “Bloody hell-o, the really old stuff!” A violent sneeze wracked Crowley’s whole body, hard enough to ruffle even non-corporeal feathers and send their glasses flying across the room.

“It is,” beamed Aziraphale, radiating innocence at Crowley’s accusatory glare, slipping the offending bottle from Crowley’s hand. Somehow they had managed to not spill any of the ink. “And reed pens, quills of course, wouldn’t be accurate with modern pens-”

When the rolls of aged parchment were unfurled across Aziraphale desk, Crowley realized exactly what the reformed angel’s plan was. And when the ancient tattered manuscript was tenderly revealed, there was no containing the wicked smile. “A-zira-phale,” the former demon mock scolded as they slid the glasses back on, leaning over the desk and blocking the light so that the reformed angel had to look up. “You’ve become a _forger!_ ”

That blush was back. “I most certainly have not!” protested Aziraphale, avoiding Crowley’s smirking gaze. “I am preserving them!”

“Really,” drawled Crowley, twisting around to get a look at the tattered parchment. “There’s barely anything there to pressserve. But enough there for referencesss,” came the low teasing hiss.

Still blushing, knowing Crowley was more right that wrong, Aziraphale let out a huff. “Well if I don’t then this will be lost to time and no one will get to see the rest of Sappho’s poems,” the reformed angel said, very secure in their reasoning. “I only ever got to meet her once but I remember all her poems, and it’s not like I’m selling them for profit-”

“Or prophet,” interjected Crowley, grinning widely at Aziraphale’s put upon expression. “So if not for gain then for what?”

“History. The betterment of human kind!” Aziraphale looked down at the tattered parchment with reverence. “The preservation of knowledge and wisdom passed down through the ages.” The ex-angel looked back up, expression pinched and confessed, “That has always been my calling, Crowley.”

“I know,” said Crowley quietly, quickly looking back down at the fresh parchment. “Won’t work though. Too new, no one’ll believe it.”

“They will.” The ex-angel’s smug assurance had Crowley looking up. “Because they have before.”

“When?”

“About thirty years ago. One of Mark Twain’s works.”

Crowley hissed, impressed. “How did you manage _that_?” The smugness faded into adorable sheepishness and the ex-angel’s mumbled reply was unintelligible. “Come now, don’t be shy-”

“I miracled them, all right?” Aziraphale made a face at Crowley’s arched eyebrows and taunting smirk. “I knew as good as they were they wouldn’t fool the scientists and such so I,” a finger waggle, “to make it work.”

“You used a _miracle_ to create a _forgery_?” Crowley said, the smirk spreading and spreading into a unholy grin as Aziraphale fidgeted. “Angel, I didn’t know you had it in you. You’ve been very naughty.”

“It is a _reproduction_ , not a forgery! They’re authentic documents just not-” Aziraphale broke off what they were saying, seeing Crowley’s triumphant grin, feeling like they were finally back on familiar ground. “Oh shut up,” snapped Aziraphale with a huff, but there was a hint of a smile under the disgruntled words. “If you’re going to be like that, go take a nap or something.”

“Don’t mind If I do,” Crowley laughed, and sprawled across the couch, clucking their tongue and wagging a teasing finger at the abashed ex-angel. Aziraphale glared and another chuckle escaped from Crowley at the sweet wickedness of it and that lingering hint of a smile in the reformed angel’s eyes. “So I have to ask, why not just,” finger waggle, “the originals back into shape instead? Prob’ly less work in the end, really.”

Aziraphale was beginning to think the blush would just become permanent. “Because they’re mine. I can’t just entrust them to anyone. They’re safer with me.”

“Ahh.” Aziraphale gave the former demon a warning look, but Crowley knew better than to point out all the flaws in that statement. When no more questions were forthcoming the reformed angel gladly settled into the so called preservation, pushing away Everything for a while with a relieved sigh.

Crowley watched them sink into the exacting work. _Book “store” is right,_ thought Crowley not for the first time, picking up the nearest book from the stack nearby. _Great big storage area pretending to be a shop. Not a “shop” either because no one’s allowed to buy! Might as well be a library, only no one’d be allowed to check them out either. Doesn’t like to share, does my angel._

The book fell from nerveless fingers back onto the pile, and Crowley darted a look at Aziraphale, who was too busy to have noticed Crowley’s sudden - sudden what? It wasn’t sudden at all though, was it? It had always been there, that heart-wrenching ache every time they parted, that insidious hope that welled when they reunited, never to be revealed for fear of discovery. The fondness that had only grown over the years, hidden beneath exasperation and sarcasm. It just took the world almost ending for Crowley to allow themself to admit how important Aziraphale really was, if only inwardly. _My angel._

An eternity passed while Crowley sat and watched Aziraphale work, darling Aziraphale, mumbling about this and that, quick elegant hands writing out the ancient poems as flawlessly as only a celestial being could. _My Aziraphale._ Crowley escaped into sleep, unable to think about what those words, that truth, really meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a surprise hidden in the beginning of this chapter that I worked way too hard to make work. Did you spot it? First letter of the first word of each paragraph for the first 30 paragraphs. It's ridiculous but I'm also ridiculously proud that I got it to work. :D


	3. Tuesday's Triumph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when the bindings of 6000 years are broken? What happens when angels, fallen or otherwise, are unbound?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a bit dark but I 100% swear it ends well with everyone fine. I'm not ashamed to say I cried while writing it.
> 
> [Really big edit August 1, 2019 for continuity, broken into two chapters.]

A brief stabbing pain from the mark on their temple woke Crowley, who had a heart stopping moment of panic that they'd been captured again before the sound of Aziraphale's soothing mumbling intruded. The former demon eased upright and stretched, rolling their shoulders and neck to try to relieve the tension there.

The itch was spreading to Crowley’s wings, but they wouldn’t risk exposing them in such an exposed place, not when it was clear something was wrong. Not that Crowley would bring them into Aziraphale’s space uninvited anyway. It’d be like suddenly stripping to your underclothes in a friend’s front room without even a by-your-leave. 

The corporeal wings of celestial beings are a manifestation of their power and occasionally a billboard announcing their feelings, if you’re fluent in their language. Crowley had learned firsthand the dangers of trusting the discretion of those one doesn’t have a formal pact with, not long before falling. One wrong thought being telegraphed through the unconscious movement of their wings after the fall would have given everything away. Crowley had never risked it with a demon, and only a fool would risk it with an angel. Demons make and break pacts all the time and angels had been forbidden from making pacts shortly before the fall.

But Crowley had always trusted Aziraphale, who had proven over and over since the fall that they would not betray Crowley’s confidence. And there was nothing stopping them from having a pact, from renewing the pact Crowley hazily remembered them making in secret that last night in the Garden. That was assuming Aziraphale still...

Crowley scowled down at their watch, but couldn't seem to focus on the face. It was dark outside, but that didn't mean much when either of them could go a century or more without shifting a muscle, especially Aziraphale when enthralled by a project. Crowley checked their phone's time having to squint at it before the numbers swam into focus. _Midnight, figures._ Their eyes drifted towards the enraptured ex-angel. _I should go. Let them have their space. But they wouldn't notice a parade marching through here, let alone someone being quiet. Maybe I should..._

Crowley silently prowled around the shop, setting up a few magical alarms that would merely warn of intruders, knowing the reformed angel would frown upon anything more hazardous than that around the books. When it was done Crowley still hesitated, torn. They didn't want to go home alone, didn't want to try to figure things out alone, were so tired of being alone.

It was always a risk, allowing someone else into your space, but the reformed angel had been a perfect guest the night the world didn't end. Aside from complimenting the plants where they could hear it, and while wearing Crowley's form! It would probably take months to repair the damage. _Was it really only a couple days ago?_ They had gone their separate ways after their long celebratory lunch, mostly because neither of them had known what to say or do. There was so much to say.

A part of Crowley had hoped Aziraphale would show up on their doorstep once night fell, but they had never materialized. It had seemed clear the reformed angel was setting the boundaries back to where they had been _._ But then earlier had happened, all those unspoken words. Crowley was terrified but desperate to know what the reformed angel had almost confessed.

"Aziraphale?"

"Hmm?"

"How long 'til you're done?"

"Just finished, dear. Perhaps we could go get dinner?" Aziraphale suggested hopefully, looking up from the manuscript and blinking a few times. "Oh, I was at that a while, wasn't I? Dreadfully sorry."

Crowley checked the time and chuckled. "It's almost 1 AM, angel." Aziraphale's face fell but Crowley waved them up. "Come on, we'll go back to my place. You've been slouched at that desk too long anyway."

Aziraphale quickly started putting things away, not wanting to waste any of the precious materials through carelessness, and made a token protest, wanting to give Crowley an out of their impulsive offer. "Oh, I'd hate to impose-"

"Never an imposition fr'you, Aziraphale," Crowley murmured, moving towards the door when Aziraphale looked up in surprise at their serious tone. "Come on, I'm sure we'll find something while you let things dry."

"As long as you're quite sure, Crowley."

"Always, angel." Crowley could see Aziraphale's confusion but ignored it, slipping into the driver's seat and clasping very tightly to the wheel. The itching was getting worse and a headache was beginning to pound behind their eyes. Unsure what to do except hurry back to home territory with their only ally, Crowley sped off.

Aziraphale watched Crowley with a small frown of concern, but could tell from the their expression that it was better to not ask questions. As it was the annoying wing itch was distraction enough, and the ex-angel shifted restlessly when a worrying thought popped up. _It this because we switched? mingled? whatever it was that we did before our executions? Did I... did I absorb some of Crowley's... demon-ness?_ Aziraphale risked a glance when Crowley shifted, pressing back against the seat like there was an itch along their spine that couldn't be reached. _Did my angel-ness contaminate- or poison? Crowley in some way? Oh, oh dear._ Aziraphale wiped a hand over burning eyes, refusing to let the tears fall and stared down at the golden ring on their pinky. _Maybe I can fix it. Maybe if I..._

Aziraphale jumped when Crowley spoke, trying to smile reassuringly when Crowley frowned. "Sorry, lost in thought. What did you say?"

"Just wondering where you were, angel. We've been parked for five minutes." Crowley tried to tease, but the itch was making it almost impossible to think. Another stab of pain had Crowley pressing a hand to the throbbing tattoo with a hiss. When they pulled their hand away, there was a smear of blood on their fingers.

"Crowley? You're hurt! Please, tell me what's going on."

Desperation had Crowley gritting their teeth, and speaking words they never thought they'd say again, to the only being they'd ever trusted enough to say them to. "I desire a boon, Aziraphale." The words crackled with power under the thread of pain in Crowley's voice.

Aziraphale couldn't help the shocked gasp that escaped but didn't hesitate to reply in kind. "Ask and be heard, Anthony J. Crowley, I attend you."

There was so much that needed to be said, that they wanted to say but the ceremony didn't allow for deviation and the pain was worsening. "I seek to mend all wrongs and reforge our bond."

Aziraphale nodded, eyes stinging with tears, and it took a second to swallow down everything they wanted to say to be able to say the proper response, "Such forged has lain quiescent but was _never_ sundered."

 _It was never unspoken. They never broke it, even after..._ Crowley's eyes burned with tears they'd been cursed to never let fall and offered their hand in agreement. "Shoulder to shoulder?"

Mind brimming with questions there clearly was no time for Aziraphale clasped Crowley's hand and spoke the final phrase. "My wings to yours."

Occult power swept through them, renewing the bond and knocked the breath from both of them. After a moment, unable to sit still a second longer, Crowley all but jumped from the car and dashed inside. Glasses and jacket went flying as Crowley bolted through the flat towards the giant marble bathroom mortared with every type of magic against attack and scrying and filled to the brim with all manner of tropical plants. Their own little replica of the Garden.

With a ragged gasp Crowley's wings flashed into being, ink-dark feathers seeming to absorb the warm light gleaming from false sky-lights. They flapped, once, twice, but the movement did nothing to ease the sensation that was going from searing itch to freezing ache. Desperate, feeling as though they were suffocating inside an icebox, they flung off the rest of their clothes and slapped on the water, wings spread wide as droplets began to pour from the ceiling.

Aziraphale had followed as quickly as possible, only stopping to set a very unpleasant surprise by the door for anyone who tried to break in, before cautiously following the sound of running water towards the gleaming bathroom. "Crowley?" The ex-angel was shocked to see Crowley shivering under the downpour, hair and feathers drenched, blood seeping from the mark on their temple. Aziraphale paid no mind to the water, dashing to catch Crowley's shoulders just as the ex-demon began to collapse to the floor. "What's going on? Crowley!"

The sound Crowley made was somehow both bitter laugh and heartbroken sob. "I think they found a way to kill me after all, angel. Teamed up I think... Sssshould've... guessss'd." The burning frost was pervasive and growing, seeking out the soul embedded within the living vessel that trembled from the freezing cold searing pain, seeping through muscles and around bones, piercing eyes and lungs and heart, which failed under the onslaught.

"No, NO!" Aziraphale roared when Crowley's lovely eyes went dull and sightless, and if either side had seen Aziraphale at that moment, they would have been reminded why they had been the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

"FUCK YOU!" Power the color of a bronze sword sharpened with noonlight exploded from Aziraphale and the ex-angel's suddenly corporeal stark white wings. Those quick clever hands darted towards the obvious source of Crowley's torment, the blackened wings, the feathers beginning to singe and flake away. "You will NOT take Crowley from me again! I won't allow it!" Power lanced away from hands that trembled not at all, into feathers heavy with the freezing embers of sanctified hellfire.

Crowley, lost in the dark agony of death, was caught in the sudden flood of golden light that washed away the pain and brought them back with a gasp. They slowly became aware of the feeling of Aziraphale's magic soothing frost-burned skin, their hands raking through burning feathers without a thought. "Ashera, no!" Crowley slurred and tried to push them away, tears falling where they hadn't been able to fall in millennia. Aziraphale was implacable and continued to pull the clinging embers from Crowley's feathers, burning them away, ignoring the pain of handling the sanctified hellfire and the building cold fire of Heaven's unholy judgment, only giving in when the last of the embers was gone in a pathetic puff of smoke.

"Why, wha-, no no nononono." Crowley scrambled upright just in time to break Aziraphale's fall, "Aziraphale, no, did they-" The angel nodded, eyes pressing shut as a shudder passed through the failing body. Thoughts still muddled Crowley had sense enough to do one thing.

"NO!"

The water, stopped, midair, crystalline and gleaming in the odd light of out-time. That last desperate heartbeat took an eon to pass, as Aziraphale reached up with the last of their power to press a shaking hand to Crowley's right temple, staring into Crowley's lovely eyes, irises still blown wide and awash with tears. _How foolish I was, to hesitate. And now..._ "I'm sorry."

When Aziraphale’s hand slipped away, taking with it the last of the binding mark on Crowley’s temple, Crowley’s face crumpled and contorted with fury and despair, eyes burning with the rage and love of a star gone nova. "You can't leave me, you bassstard, not now, not after all thisss!" The former demon called upon powers that they hadn't been able to use in millennia and dragged lightning-edged talons through Aziraphale's glittering ice-rimed feathers, shattering the icy acidic unholy water eating away at them. "You're mine, you hear? I won't let you go! Aziraphale! Stay, bless you, stay!" The words devolved into snarled half-spoken curses and pleas but the assault against the glass-sharp Heavenly whatever-the-fuck-it-was escalated into a frenzy.

"Ha!" Crowley yelled with sense of triumph when the last of the shards fell away and dissolved with a 'pft' of smoke, but triumph vanished when Aziraphale's eyes remained closed, and the fragile corporeal heart remained still, persisting only because of the timelessness of the moment. _No no no no no,_ spiraled in Crowley's mind as they kissed those blued lips, pushing breath and life back into the dying vessel, _reaching_ with the very core of their being into the freezing darkness, ready to follow Aziraphale into oblivion if need be. _Don't leave me! Aziraphale!_

 _Crowley!_ Light, golden and gloriously alive exploded into existence, burning away the darkness and they were back in their bodies, gasping and clinging to one another. Aziraphale shuddered and croaked, "Crowley?"

"I'm here, angel, I'm here," murmured Crowley, cursing and laughing when time slammed back into place and the suddenly far-too-hot-for-comfort water poured over them.

It took a bit of flailing around to turn off the taps and Crowley sat slouched against the wall afterward, wings half unfurled and quivering. They were unable to look away from Aziraphale, drenched and drained, clothes and wings completely saturated with water and coated with the inert ashy gray residue, but they were there, wonderfully, blessedly alive. "I will be very cross with you if you ever do that again, angel." Aziraphale's lips, pink again and full of life, curled upwards into an exhausted smile. The former angel's eyes opened, revealing they had shifted to green, and Crowley realized that drowning in them wasn't half bad really, all things considered. The itch and that building sense of doom were finally gone.

Aziraphale murmured, "You started it."

"Me?! I-! Wot-! You-!"

The fondly exasperated sputtering of a celestial serpent at a loss for words warmed Aziraphale's heart as nothing else could and laughter, joyous in a way the former angel realized they couldn't recall ever feeling before, bubbled up. Aziraphale caught one of Crowley's flailing hands and clasped it in both of their own, silencing the former demon's protests. "What would I ever do without you?"

Crowley's arms snaked around Aziraphale in a nearly-crushing hug. "You'd better not try to find out!" Crowley scolded, voice breaking, face pressed into their shoulder for a moment before pulling away to glare. "You barmy bastard, what the fuck were you thinking!?"

"Couldn't let you go, my dear. Very selfish of me, I'm afraid," Aziraphale murmured, startled by the tears running down Crowley's face. "Had to try."

"You feather-brained do-gooder, you died! You died and I couldn't save you!" Crowley crushed Aziraphale in another hug, easing up when Aziraphale squeaked. "Sorry, sorry-"

"It was so painful and dark and cold," Aziraphale whispered, needing to tell Crowley what happened, feeling the memory already beginning to fade. "Then I realized I was in the Garden, but there wasn't anything there but the sky and it was abyssal black and starless. I was so afraid, so alone."

Crowley held them tight, face pressed to Aziraphale's shoulder, heart breaking. "Angel..."

Tears welled, offset by a fond smile. "But then a million stars exploded into being, and the Tree was sheltering me and I sensed you and I wasn't afraid anymore." Aziraphale stroked a finger over Crowley's nearest wing-edge, considering as bits of sodden ash flaked away and disintegrated into nothingness. "I heard you call my name." Another gentle touch, more ash dropping away from inky feathers that seemed to have gained an odd sheen. "My wings to yours. Always."

Crowley frowned, pulling away from Aziraphale's touch, unable to deal with the feelings those words and gentle caresses were stirring up. They banished their wings back into the astral plane with a spatter of displaced soot and water. "C'mon, angel. Let's get you warmed up." The slight disappointment on Aziraphale's face melted into a surprised gasp as Crowley gathered the exhausted ex-angel close and lifted them up.

Aziraphale's arms slipped around Crowley's shoulders and held on tightly. "I _can_ walk. Probably."

"You're exhausted, and shivering. And you just died to save me. Let me do this for you," said Crowley gruffly, moving towards the bedroom when Aziraphale nodded. Crowley set them down by the bed, carefully helped them from the ruined suit and into the nightshirt they'd used just a few nights earlier and then bundled them into the bed, clicking on the electric blanket. "Let me dry you off, eh?" Crowley urged, shrugging into a certain plush robe under Aziraphale’s heavy lidded stare. “Rather a mess, I’m afraid.”

Aziraphale didn’t have much will to resist temptation while cocooned in the lovely warmth. What had happened on Sunday felt like a dream, a lifetime ago, and it _had_ been so very long since Crowley had helped care for their wings... It had only ever been Crowley. “T’would be lovely, thank you.”

Crowley clicked off the lights, grabbed a towel and climbed onto the bed, smirking as Aziraphale went boneless once they started gently grooming the dusty feathers. “Relax any more angel and you might just fall asleep for once,” Crowley teased, but there was an ache over their heart. It had been a very long time since they had allowed themself to touch Aziraphale, and after the all too brief interlude before they’d gone to play with fire, Crowley had hoped the angel would want to do it again.

"Mmm," Aziraphale hummed in agreement, too tired to even bother with full sentences anymore. Apparently dying took a lot out of a being. "Feels lovely. Haven’t had them out... since forty one."

Since the church, since they'd gotten utterly drunk on cursed cider and each other in the shop's back room and- Crowley's gentle grooming faltered for a moment, but the former angel didn't notice. "Why not? Thought you said it was a big deal, grooming each other-"

"Dangerous." Aziraphale rubbed a knuckle against Crowley's leg, trying to soothe away the bitterness in their voice, thinking about the communal grooming gatherings that were like the most boring but also ridiculously fraught office parties in creation. Out of self preservation Aziraphale had created a 'show up, make nice, make excuse, vanish' routine that had kept them from having to ever reveal their wings. Being dismissed as inconsequential occasionally had its uses. "You know. Awful. Nosy buggers. Better with you, even without..."

"Angel." There was a world of meaning in that one word, and they lapsed into silence in the dimness, Crowley continuing to gently tend Aziraphale's wing, wiping away the strange residue, soothing ruffled feathers back into place. They felt normal, well as normal as the corporeal manifestation of a celestial being's power could feel, but every once in a while the oblique light from the window would strike them just right to make them seem gold instead of white, with a faint sheen of what might be iridescence. But it was dark and Crowley didn't want to look too closely, nor think about any more surprises.

Crowley finished tidying Aziraphale's feathers feeling as though they were buzzing with energy yet at the same time exhausted. "All done, angel. Put them away," they murmured, nodding slightly with satisfaction as they furled and vanished. Crowley sat in the dark, listening to Aziraphale's quiet even breaths that spoke of true sleep, and finally dressed and left Aziraphale alone in the bed to rest, retreating to the office. With snap they miracled up a couch, turning on the TV and letting themself be lulled into a thoughtful stupor.


	4. Tuesday's Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what we need? Misunderstandings and angst! Mutual pining! Ineffable Dorks who need to learn to talk to each other!

"Bloody hell!" Crowley shouted in realization a few hours later, leaping up from the couch to storm around the room. They jumped when Aziraphale awe-stepped into the room, eyes glowing, golden power gathered in the former angel's hands.

"Crowley? What's wrong?" Aziraphale looked around the room blearily for danger, still somewhat exhausted but ready to do whatever it took to protect Crowley.

"Sorry, sorry, nothing's happened, here, sit before you fall," Crowley ordered gruffly, gently taking Aziraphale's shoulder and steering them to the couch before quickly retreating. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"What happened?" Aziraphale asked, watching curiously as Crowley began pacing the room.

"I remembered," Crowley hissed, eyes alight with fury. " _Falling_." They turned away from Aziraphale's solemn expression. "That, that whatsit, cold fire frozen ember bullshit! That's what it felt like when I was expelled! But it stopped, when, when I agreed to be on _their_ side and they branded me." A poke at their temple where the snake mark had been. "And then they dumped me in the boiling sulfur with the others. Don't you get it? _They've_ had a bloody Arrangement all along! Just shuffling us around like pieces on a chessboard! And I thought we were being _clever_ ," Crowley's scorned.

"Oh. Oh! Oh dear... Do you think, could it be they severed our bonds with the Hosts somehow? Perhaps they expected we'd die without them? Is that was why they let us go?"

"I don't know." Crowley rested their fists on the window ledge, glaring at nothing, their mind racing. "As long as we're not _their_ pawns anymore, that's all I care about."

Aziraphale's expression turned very thoughtful, absently watching Crowley resume stomping around the room in frustration. _What does it mean for us, for our powers, if we're not tied to the Hosts anymore? Does choosing the humans side count without there being a formal agreement in place? If only there was someone to ask._ "You know..." Crowley stopped to look at the angel, who was staring into space. "I was thinking about what Miss Weatherwax was saying."

"Eh?" Crowley flung themself down onto the couch beside Aziraphale. "Wasn't paying a lot of attention I'm afraid, too busy trying to think of a way to escape."

Aziraphale smiled faintly in agreement. "That we aren't the only ones who've chosen their own side."

Crowley paused to consider but nodded. "Makes sense, don't it? Can't be the only bastards that don't fit in with _them_ and their agenda _._ Ones who were never on their side to begin with."

"But it's like you said, if we're not pawns for their game, perhaps they don't have a hold over us anymore." Aziraphale liked chess of course, very thoughtful civilized game in the reformed angel's opinion, but the idea of being a mere pawn was rather... unpalatable. Especially considering the part they had played in moving humans about on their sides' behalf. But following the analogy to its logical conclusion had the reformed angel letting out a startled bark of laughter.

Crowley speared the former angel with a look, intrigued by the glimmer of, yes, wickedness, in those shining eyes. "What? What did you think of?"

Aziraphale tried to school their face into thoughtful contemplation, but the wicked glimmer would not be hidden. "Things change when a pawn visits the other side of the board you know."

Crowley eyed them with a touch of wariness. The former demon knew a trap when they saw one. "What do you mean? Change how?"

"They get promoted, 'rise' through the ranks, as it were. Not an easy feat, you see, surviving to make it through to the other side. Big risk means big reward."

Fond exasperation had Crowley growling, "Angel..."

"There's another term for it, of course." Aziraphale couldn't help but draw out the moment, wickedly pleased by Crowley's exasperated eye roll, barely able to contain themselves when they finally revealed, "They get _**Queened**_!"

The utterly stunned look on Crowley's face was simply priceless. "No." That tiny denial was fuel to the fire, though the ex-angel tried to suppress it, resulting in a choked giggle-snort. "No..." Giggles progressed to what could probably only be called chortles, until the final, "No!" had peals of the reformed angel's cathartic laughter ringing through the flat.

"You're making that up!" Crowley accused, but inwardly that old snake was basking in the radiant sound of the reformed angel's unrestrained glee.

"I'm not!" gasped Aziraphale, wiping at their eyes, dissolving into another fit of giggles when Crowley hissed. "Look it up, I _swear_ it's true."

Eyes narrowed to slits, head canted to give the chuckling reformed angel side-eye as only a serpent could give, Crowley summoned their smartphone and began to tap away, darting a playfully suspicious look at Aziraphale as they did so and setting off another spate of poorly smothered laughter.

Crowley's face was a journey all its own. The long drawn out groan and boneless sprawl back against the cushions, and the small, final, defeated, "Fuck," as the phone slid onto the floor was more than enough to set off another riot of laughter and Crowley couldn't help but join in. "Puns!"

"I know!" wailed Aziraphale, hands flapping as they fought to get their breath back. "Terrible!"

"They cursed my car, didn't they? Blasted witches and their blasted meddling," Crowley growled, but there was no heat to the statement, not while Aziraphale was collapsed beside Crowley with laughter, eyes shining with fondness and mirth. " _Queen's Greatest Hits_! The cheek!"

The laughter finally died away into residual giggles. "I believe that's what's called 'foreshadowing'."

Crowley sneered and rolled back to their feet. "C'mon angel, I've had enough thinking and talking for now. Your little café should be open, eh? Food will help."

"That does sound delightful." Aziraphale almost used a miracle to dress but stopped themself, remembering that they might not be able to recharge as quickly as they used to.

Crowley noticed the hesitation but didn't comment, giving them privacy to dress, waiting for them out in the hallway. Took their coat and helped them into it. "Food, then what?" Crowley asked lowly, smoothing their hands over Aziraphale's shoulders and nervously withdrawing, "Knowing you, books."

Aziraphale nodded, trying to hide their response to Crowley's action. _Was that..? Are they..? No, just a kindness. Don't be more of a fool than you already are._ "I do need to do some research."

They ate a luxurious breakfast before barricading themselves in the shop. Crowley acted as a sounding board and barkeep as Aziraphale bounced ideas around, pulling out book after scroll after manuscript. The reformed angel took copious notes but it was all speculation and eventually Aziraphale let Crowley convince them to get lunch then come back to their flat when they kept getting disturbed by potential customers.

Crowley set the books and notes onto their desk, cringing a little every time they thought of what Aziraphale must think of it, of everything in the flat. They retreated to the couch when Aziraphale entered the office with another pile of documents. "Desk's all yours, angel. Feel free to change the chair if you want, not really attached to it. To any of it."

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary," said Aziraphale, diving into the papers and soon spreading them across the massive desk, standing over them as they mumbled, pointing out tidbits to Crowley, asking their opinion on parts. When Crowley dozed off curled up on one end of the couch, Aziraphale magicked up a black and red tartan blanket to cover them with before settling on the other end with one of the heftier books, a pad and pen on the arm as they started translating the text. Eventually Crowley stretched out some, settling into a deeper sleep with their toes just barely touching Aziraphale's leg.

A few hours had passed by the time Aziraphale rescued Crowley from almost falling off the couch for the third time. "Crowley? Are you awake?" Aziraphale murmured, smiling tenderly when they grumbled sleepily. "You should go to bed." Another grumble but no sign of getting up. With a hint of trepidation Aziraphale got up, relieved when Crowley still didn't stir and gathered up the unconscious former demon, carrying them into the bedroom and settling them gently under the duvet. The former angel indulged in watching them sleep for a moment, pressing a hand to the familiar ache over their heart before retreating to the couch to continue their research.

**∞**

Barely an hour passed before the former angel was dithering in the hallway outside the bedroom, wringing their hands, walking up to the door to knock and walking away again before doing so. _It's too forward. If they wanted my help they'd ask me._ Aziraphale stared at the door, cringing in sympathy at the twinges of discomfort coming through the rekindled bond they shared. When they heard Crowley swear Aziraphale knocked. "Crowley?"

There were thumps and swears and after a minute a very disheveled Crowley yanked open the door. "What's wrong?"

"You tell me."

Crowley flinched away when Aziraphale stepped closer, hastily retreating into the room when the former angel tried to rest a hand on their arm. "It's nothing."

"It's not. I can sense something's wrong, with your wings?" Aziraphale said lowly, clasping their hands together to keep from reaching out again when Crowley began to pace.

"It's just a, a something from earlier," Crowley said, pressing the heels of their hands to their stinging eyes, trying not to cry in Aziraphale's presence. Worse than the pain in their wings was the reawakening of memories that had disturbed their rest; of being in the Garden with Aziraphale, just them, together against the world. It hurt almost as much as when Crowley had thought Aziraphale dead.

"Crowley," Aziraphale pleaded. "Let me help you. That's why you offered me the bond isn't it?"

"I... yeah, okay. Whatever it was, it's, uh..." The former demon's wings became corporeal and Aziraphale hissed in sympathy at the state they were in. The residue had hardened, binding the feathers together in an uncomfortable mess. "Can you miracle them? I tried and it didn't work."

Aziraphale hesitated. Celestial wings' nature often made them interact oddly with magic. "Sit?" Crowley sat at the foot of the bed, cringing and tense, clearly ready to bolt. "I think I need to touch them."

"I-" Crowley reared back, ashamed to see the fleeting dismay cloud Aziraphale's eyes. "I don't, it's not that... They're, they're _corrupted_ , like me. Steeped in sulfur and hatred to make us resistant to hellfire. What if it was wearing my seeming that-" _Killed you._ Crowley tried to back away farther at the idea.

The former angel caught Crowley's hand and held on desperately. "It wasn't your fault," Aziraphale said harshly, easily reading the unspoken thought on Crowley's face. "They figured out our ruse somehow. You said it yourself, they teamed up, to inflict their vengeance upon us."

"You don't know that for sure," Crowley growled, staring down at Aziraphale's hands clasped around theirs, inanely realizing that the ubiquitous golden ring was missing from their pinky.

"That's true," Aziraphale said, startling Crowley into looking back up. "I don't know that we'll ever really be sure what it was. But it doesn't matter because we're _still_ _here._ " Aziraphale stared at the former demon, taking in their haggard expression, thinking of all the things that they had needed to put aside because the world was ending. "I'm on our side now, and if that means hellfire and brimstone, then so be it."

"No, Aziraphale..." The idea of their angel being subjected to that was like a knife in the gut.

"Let me help. Trust me, please?"

"I do, but-"

"No, no buts. This was not your fault! If anything it was probably mine, for letting Gabriel realize we even _could_ team up. I wasn't as careful of you as I should have been." Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. "Our side was the side I should have chosen, but I was too afraid."

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid," protested Crowley.

Aziraphale just shook their head. "We're in this together. You tended me so, please, allow me to return the favor?"

Crowley stared into Aziraphale's bright blue eyes, at all the candid concern they held, and couldn't say no. Hea- hel- Somewhere only knew how they'd been lucky enough to win Aziraphale's regard. Crowley gave a terse nod and allowed their wings to relax open as far as they could and closed their eyes when those lovely angelic hands moved towards the mess of blackened feathers.

Curiosity and concern prompted the former angel to examine Crowley's poor beleaguered wings closely before they decided on a course of action. "I'm going to try a cleansing spell," Aziraphale said, waiting for Crowley to nod before setting the spell into motion.

It worked, on everything except Crowley's wings. "Figures," the former demon growled.

"I think I'll have to do it by hand," Aziraphale said, watching Crowley's expression worriedly.

Crowley grimaced but nodded, eyes still closed. "Alright." When Aziraphale didn't move Crowley cracked open an eye, misunderstanding their dismayed expression. "You don't have to."

"It's all my fault." Aziraphale's voice cracked. "If I'd-"

"Bollocks!" Crowley barked, startling former angel out of their train of thought. "If it's not my fault then it's not yours either!" When Aziraphale just stood wringing their hands Crowley whapped them lightly with their wing, sending bits of residue scattering, ignoring the twinge of pain the motion caused. "Now you listen here you st- brilliant bastard, you know something else would have gone wrong if we'd done it different. Both of us discorporated or, or if Warlock actually was the anti-christ? That would have been terrible, or-"

"Alpha Centauri." Aziraphale didn't realize they'd said it aloud until Crowley stopped to stare, their face going red and then pale. "Did you mean it?" It was barely a whisper.

"I, uh, of, of course I meant it angel, you, you're my best friend, oh don't do that, I can't deal with that," panicked Crowley, coming off the bed when tears welled in Aziraphale's eyes, stiffening for just a moment when Aziraphale's arms went around them before hugging them back tightly.

"You're my best friend too," Aziraphale confessed into their shoulder. _You're everything,_ they couldn't say. "I just wanted things to go back to how they were, safe and comfortable and simple."

"I know."

"I'm sorry." Aziraphale pulled back enough to be able to see Crowley's face. "I hurt you and I'm sorry."

Crowley nodded, backing out of Aziraphale's embrace to sit back on the end of the bed. "Guess you owe me big time, huh," they joked half-heartedly, closing their eyes again and holding out a wing, needing that bit of distance to keep from saying or doing something they'd undoubtedly regret.

Aziraphale tamped down their disappointment at Crowley's withdrawal and moved towards the extended wing. Aziraphale began gently freeing the silken soft feathers from the residue, fascinated to watch the ashy sheaths disintegrate into nothingness in their hands.

" 'Snot burning you, is it? The whatever it is?"

"Not at all, it appears to be completely inert now. I'm not hurting you am I?" Aziraphale worried when Crowley flinched a little.

"It's like getting tangles out of hair," Crowley explained. "Pulls a little, not a great feeling. It's, oh..." Their eyes snapped open at the sudden soothing warmth that dulled the pain, staring at the spill of golden light that diffused through their feathers from Aziraphale's hands. "Thanks."

Aziraphale gave them a small nod and continued their painstaking work, letting out a silent sigh when Crowley shut their eyes again. The former angel was startled to discover the inky blackness was coming away with the residue, revealing dark purple-blue feathers and they were enchanted to find little blazes on them that looked like stars and a few swirls that resembled galaxies. Crowley was deeply entranced by the time the inner side of that wing was clean, as well as the primaries and secondaries, and the former angel shifted to begin on the outer wing but gasped to see the sheen glowing with jewel tones when the light hit it just right.

Crowley instantly came back to awareness at their gasp, looking at Aziraphale in concern. "Angel?"

"Oh, Crowley, they're so _beautiful,_ " Aziraphale breathed, tilting their head to watch the play of light over the feathers. "Sorry to have disturbed you."

Crowley didn't move, too busy staring at their own wing in shock. "What the..."

Aziraphale answered the confusion in Crowley's eyes with a shrug. "I don't know. It seems that whatever it was has altered the very nature of your wings." Unspoken was the implication that it had altered Crowley's nature as well as Aziraphale's. "I've never seen anything like it. They don't feel different, just-" They gently shifted the former demon's wing, allowing the sheen to flare into greens and blues and purples. "I'm going to keep working?"

Crowley nodded and let themself be soothed by the relaxing sensation of Aziraphale grooming their wings. It was not something they had dared indulge in in a great many years and Crowley would never admit how terribly they had missed it.

Aziraphale was closely focused on their work, fascinated to discover Crowley's wings' outer feathers were a multi-hued dark gray reminiscent of storm-clouds. It was nothing they had ever seen before and Aziraphale wondered if their own wings had changed as dramatically. Considered, briefly, bringing them into being but resisted the temptation.

Crowley watched Aziraphale through their lashes, so many unspeakable words and emotions circling around in their head. "So what now? I'm glad to be done with the bastards, but what about you, angel?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale admitted. "It was so much simpler, you know, to just take orders. To tell myself I was on the 'right' side and not question anything _._ "

There was an edge of scorn in Aziraphale's voice that Crowley had never heard before, and it made their heart break a little for the reformed angel. "I understand."

"I know we can't sit idle while they plan their next Armageddon. I need to do more research. Human texts on celestial beings are proving rather useless but I keep hoping I will find something useful among the dross. Doesn't help most of them were metaphorically up in the stratosphere or on death's door, or both, when they decided to make note of their so called discoveries."

The former demon sat and watched the former angel as they soothed Crowley's feathers and rambled on about what little they'd discovered, murmuring at the proper moments to show they were still listening before closing their eyes again. Beneath the surface those ancient memories were lurking, and churning in the back of their mind was the realization that Aziraphale didn't remember. Worse was the possibility that they had chosen to forget. Crowley had to know which it was. "Angel?"

"Hmm?" They had finished setting Crowley's wings to rights while talking but the former angel had continued to tenderly stroke their fingers through the feathers, hoping the former demon wouldn't tell them to stop. It made their heart ache, how much they had missed the act. Wished they dared ask Crowley to groom their wings again, just for the pleasure of the interaction. Even if nothing else would ever come of it.

"You ever read the really old writings? The ones that talk about the early days?"

Aziraphale frowned at the change of subject and shrugged. "Not in the beginning, of course, wasn't the done thing up in the Library but once I was sent down here... I admit, I was curious. Can't deal with books without running across them, of course. And most of them are used for prophecies, and I had to make sure they were intact-"

"I'm not accusing you, angel," Crowley soothed, opening their eyes to meet Aziraphale's curious gaze. "How many angels were guarding the Garden?"

Aziraphale's fingers stilled as their expression went blank for a moment, shifting into consternation as they realized that despite what the most accepted story was, they'd always known that they hadn't guarded the Garden alone. Had always, in the back of their mind, known that they'd known Crowley from before that last unforgettable night in the Garden, from long before the fall when they'd both been angels. "Oh," they breathed, eyes wide as they gazed at Crowley, suddenly flooded with memories freed from the wall they had been locked behind.

"Didn't have much use for a sword, did I, flaming or otherwise," said Crowley, Celestial Serpent and Guardian of the Western Gate. The tightness in their chest loosened somewhat at Aziraphale's expression of recognition and they stretched their wings to their fullest before furling them back into the ether.

"Of course." It had been two, had always been the two of them, together against everything. Things hadn't really been 'black and white' in the beginning, and time had been much more malleable, until the humans had gotten the hang of pinning it down into minutes, hours, seconds. Of believing so hard in things that they _became_. Aziraphale quelled their habitual proclivity to dismiss it as human error, to keep pretending that there had never been anything _before,_ anything _other_. There was no going back even if Aziraphale had wanted to; all that had happened had ensured that. "How could I have forgotten?"

Crowley cleared the lump from their throat. "We were made to forget, angel, to fit _their_ agenda. _Someone_ might have an ineffable plan but I think heaven and hell have come up with a few of their own."

"Yes, I think you are correct." Aziraphale's brows were drawn together in thought as they tried to make sense of the muddled memories. "I can't remember much from before the Garden _,_ " Aziraphale admitted, getting a nod of agreement from Crowley. "I, I remember walking with you, when you'd Guard the Garden at night. You, we-" So many of the memories were foggy, but one was crystal clear. "I remember that last night so much clearer than most everything else."

Crowley stood up and started to pace, not wanting Aziraphale to see how much that memory hurt. Of huddling together as they waited for the storm to pass, clinging to one another as their world ended. "Yeah, everything else is a bit hazy for me too. I can't have been kicked out yet, otherwise I couldn't have even been there, right? Aside from the Things, nothing else could break through the protections on the wall. There hadn't even been a rebellion yet. Not that I rebelled. All I did was ask questions!"

The memories were returning and Aziraphale couldn’t help but say, "You were so fearless. I always wished I was as fearless as you."

Crowley laughed bitterly. "I didn't know enough to be afraid! If I had..." Crowley refused to think about it. "I remembered, some of those first days in the Garden," they whispered, rubbing at the ache over their heart at the bittersweet memories. "I was a loner before meeting you, but you were so open and friendly."

"Lonely, yes, terribly alone," Aziraphale agreed. "You were so n- kind to me when you had no reason to be. You fixed my feathers. Said you owed me." Aziraphale smiled at the realization of where their odd tradition had actually originated from.

"You kept saving me from falling on my face," Crowley smirked. "Fixing a few feathers was nothing."

Aziraphale was mortified to remember their attempt at flirting after Crowley had fixed their feathers and quickly changed the subject. "You taught me about the stars."

Crowley nodded and pulled up short to stare at Aziraphale, whose eyes had gone wide at what had followed that lesson. "You... We ate the fruit. We ate of the Tree."

"We weren't told not to," said Aziraphale, defensively. "Just to... not let anyone else eat of it," they finished weakly. "I mean, it was the Tree of Knowledge, surely we, as angels, already knew...?"

"I don't know. We didn't exactly fit in with the others before that, but we definitely didn't fit in afterwards. Imagine what would have happened if they'd found out."

Aziraphale shuddered. "They already had it out for us. You had to use healing herbs to save me from being discorporated."

"The Things had injured you and we couldn't magic it away," Crowley hissed, hands clenching into fists at the sudden recollection. "And the bastards wouldn't help us!"

Aziraphale sucked in a breath as another memory returned and they pressed their hands to their mouth when a strangled laugh escaped. Crowley gave them a worried look and Aziraphale choked out, "The animals! I, I _yelled_ at, threatened! and you..."

Crowley couldn't stop the delighted laugh that escaped. "You put the fear of you in them!"

"I was so, so furious, and then Gabriel! If you hadn't stepped in I might have actually gone and tried to smite them," said Aziraphale in shock, but there was a little fizzle of energy at the memory, of how good it had felt to vent their righteous anger at the ones who deserved it. "You probably saved us both!" They stepped towards Crowley, aching to take their hand as so many of those ancient memories reminded them of doing and said solemnly, "You are as true of a friend as I could ever have hoped for. I am so glad and honored you offered me your trust, twice now."

"Even so, I didn't actually expect you to agree." But Crowley could remember hoping that perhaps the Guardian of the Eastern Gate had been just as lonely as they had been, and had felt as strongly about their friendship as they had. And then it was to be their last night together and there was no more putting it off. Time had just begun and it had already run out.

"Going back to heaven was..."

"Hell," agreed Crowley with a smirk. "Until they forgot about us."

Aziraphale's smile blossomed at the memory. "How didn't we get caught? All those trips to earth for 'research', goodness, and all those ridiculous reports you made."

"I'm not sure we didn't get caught. There was that retrieval you were sent on not long before I..."

"Oh, oh goodness." Aziraphale sat on the end of the bed as a sudden realization hit. "That book, about belief! Of course, of course, I should have seen it!"

"Seen what?"

"Some of our powers, they're because of belief, thousands of years of belief in what angels and demons are like." Aziraphale was staring into space as they scanned their memories. "Belief by not just ourselves but by humans, masses and masses of humans. But now we're cut off from that," Aziraphale realized. "We're not part of that anymore."

"So what does that mean for us?" asked Crowley. They took stock of themself and didn't really feel any different, but it was clear from Aziraphale's expression that the former angel did feel a difference.

"I don't know. Clearly I'm still able to cast ritual magic just fine but _miracles..._ " How could they be worthy of miracles anymore, after all that had happened.

"There isn't really a difference, is there? I mean, I still can, could?" They frowned down at their hand and miracled up a fresh pair of glasses and slipped them on. "Yeah, still works."

"Maybe it's different for... former demons, I don't know," Aziraphale worried, wringing their hands together, fingers searching for the ring only to remember that it was no longer there. They flexed their fingers and forced their hands down onto their knees. "The real conundrum is what if it was belief that made us invulnerable to certain things?"

Crowley could see the beginnings of panic in the former angel's eyes. "Alright, I'll grant you that some of it might be from belief, but not all of it. Or even most of it. And right now we don't even know what our abilities are anymore, so it can't be belief driving them."

"What do you mean?"

Crowley held up their left hand and let it shift into the lightning edged talon they had used to free Aziraphale. "I think this is from _before_ the Garden, maybe from before Eden." They let the lightning dissipate and the claws fade back into fingers. "And I don't think my wings looked like that in the Garden. Your wings have changed too, angel."

Aziraphale considered the strangely familiar golden-bronze radiance that they had called on to save Crowley. "Golden?" They nodded and Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. "That will take some consideration. But one stop-gap solution would be to find people to believe in us, specifically."

"Er, not too keen on going all spooky on some random humans with the hope they'll think kindly of us," said Crowley. "And the ones who knew me aren't exactly the friendly type. So, who else can we talk to?"

Aziraphale considered for a moment. "I think the witches might be a good place to start. It was Miss Weatherwax who mentioned the others in the first place."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

**∞**

They returned to Aziraphale's shop. Crowley lounged on the couch with a drink while sudden nerves had the former angel fussing with things on the desk before finally picking up the handset only to put it down again. "I don't actually know her number. Maybe we should-"

"Aziraphale." Crowley sat up. "It's okay. We don't have to do this right now." They fidgeted and asked, "Do you want me to call?"

"Oh no, I don't think she'd respond well to that at all." Aziraphale let out a little sigh. "It's just, I've never really had to ask for help before." A brief smile at Crowley before frowning at the phone again. "Not from humans anyway. Usually the other way 'round."

Crowley stood and leaned against the desk so they could be eye to eye. "Same here," Crowley admitted. "We'll need people on our side, though. They've tried twice now, I don't want them having a third go without us having someone on our side."

"And unfortunately, they won't give up their 'Great Plan' either," Aziraphale agreed with a heavy sigh.

"No, they won't."

Aziraphale let out a breath, throwing back their shoulders and straightening their clothes. "Thank you."

"Anytime, angel."

Bolstered, the former angel picked up the handset and gave it a quick tap, listening as it rang on the other end. They started a little when someone picked up and barked, "What?"

"Oh, ah, Miss Weatherwax? Hello. This is A. Z. Fell calling."

"Something wrong with what I gave you?" There was a definite edge of steel to her tone.

"No, no, it was all perfect, Miss Weatherwax, really. No, this is about... another matter. My _friend_ and I were wondering if you would have time to talk? At your soonest convenience? Of course I'd understand if-"

"Tomorrow, noon, sharp. Bring food." _Click_. Aziraphale stared at the handset for a long moment before gently setting it back into the cradle.

"Well? I take it she wasn't interested-"

"Quite the opposite, actually," Aziraphale corrected. "We're to come tomorrow at noon with food." The reformed angel glanced at Crowley's complicated watch with a little frown. "When will we have to leave? How long will it take to get there? She said 'sharp' and I'd rather not test her."

"We'll get there on time, angel. _Fear not_."

Aziraphale let out a fond beleaguered sigh. "You are insufferable."

"But you're my friend anyway," the serpent cajoled, and was rewarded with a smile. "What food do you want to bring, angel? What do gnarly old country witches with beessss like to eat, you think?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Queened_ get it? Eh? Eh?? ;}


	5. Every Witch W(ednesd)ay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale and Crowley make an arrangement with a lot of witches; Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, Eskarina Smith, Agnes Nitt, Magrat Garlick and Tiffany Aching.

They ended up bringing a bit of everything, and it only took a very small bit of magic to keep it all at temperature, considering the speed at which Crowley took those winding old roads. They skidded to a halt in front of the cottage with a minute to spare, though Aziraphale was sure that if they could age, they would have exited from the car with gray hairs. “Was that really necessary?”

“Well, you didn’t want to be late. Noon, sssharp.”

The reformed angel gave the serpent a withering glare, which bounced off Crowley’s knowing smirk quite ineffectively, and they began gathering up the wide array of take-out containers.

“After you, angel.”

Aziraphale caught a hint of Crowley’s trepidation and gladly took the lead around the side of the cottage towards the back garden. The scents and colors hit them again as they rounded the corner, and they both took a moment to inhale the heady scents.

“On time, at least.” They turned towards the voice, finding that Miss Weatherwax was sitting by her door, quietly watching them with eyes that seemed to see everything. “You may as well come in, we’ve got a bit until the others arrive.”

They took a moment to exchange a wary glance before Aziraphale led the way into the dark interior of the cottage, shoulders relaxing when nothing happened. They took a moment to look around the room, which was a large airy kitchen that had been very roughly updated some time in 1930. “Where should we set the food, Miss Weatherwax?”

She waved towards the massive old table in the center of the room. “There’s good enough. It’ll keep.” It wasn’t a question. “Sit, I’ll get the tea going.”

They did as told, instinctively choosing seats so that Aziraphale could keep an eye on her while Crowley kept an eye on the door and the garden. It took only moments for her to bring the pot to the table, as well as three battered old mugs. She gave Crowley a look as she poured out the tea and set the mug down in front of them. “I’ll see you as you are, old snake, while you’re under my roof.”

Crowley scowled at that, but snatched off the glasses and tossed them down beside the mug. “Happy?”

Miss Weatherwax met their eyes without flinching, and it was Crowley who looked away first. “Hmm.” She poured out a second mug for Aziraphale, who was watching Crowley with a crease of concern between their brows, but merely nodded in gratitude as they accepted the mug.

She poured her own mug and finally sat, taking a sip and settling back into her chair. “So. Tell me why you’re here.”

Aziraphale looked towards Crowley, who gave a terse nod and dared to take a taste of the tea. “Well, Miss Weatherwax-”

“Call me Granny.”

Neither paid any mind to Crowley’s choking cough and Aziraphale beamed at her. “Granny, thank you. Please call me Aziraphale.”

She nodded and looked towards Crowley, who had not yet recovered from almost snorting hot tea out their nose. “Oh, uh, Crowley, thanks.”

Aziraphale took another sip of tea. “Granny, do you know what happened on Saturday?”

She eyed them both for a moment before admitting, “I know it ended up not happening.”

“We… were supposed to help it along. And… we didn’t.”

“I see.” Granny pursed her lips and mulled that over for a moment. “So what do you want from me?”

Aziraphale hesitated, worried that no matter what they said, it would be the worst explanation they could have chosen. “We want to help protect this world from any more meddling from above or below. But we’re not sure how best to do that. We didn’t know who else to go to and it seemed likely you would know others to consult.”

She pierced Crowley with a look when they nodded. “Hard as it may be to believe, _Granny_ , I love this ridiculous little planet just as much as m-, as the angel does. I don’t actually wish it or its inhabitants harm.”

“Hmm. So we give you guidance, and that means?”

Aziraphale let out a breath, nervously clasping their hands together. “Having a purpose, something greater than just watching life go on around me.” They leaned forward, speaking from their heart. “I want to help but I don’t know how best to do that anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

“Yeah, same.” Crowley fidgeted beneath her stare. “And I want _them_ to pay.” Looked up into her eyes, let her read whatever she could there. “For what they did to me, to Aziraphale. What they still want to do to us and the world. Why should they be allowed to get away with it?”

She looked sidelong at Aziraphale who was unconsciously nodding in agreement to Crowley’s words and sat back in her chair, deep in thought. “What else would be gained if we agree to this?”

“We gain your trust, that means a great deal, and, well, your belief in us. Belief is very important in this sort of thing. Believing in things is very old magic, as I’m sure you know.” She was frowning but nodded. “We would of course grant our protection in return. Advice, if asked for, not that I would presume you would need advice, just that some of the younger ones might seek it. And I can, we can...” Aziraphale hesitated and looked towards Crowley, who nodded encouragingly. “We can teach humans how to use their magic to its fullest potential.” It made the former angel shiver just to think about how much both sides hated humans having magic. Offering to teach humans magic was as much a death sentence as anything else they had dared to do.

Granny made a dismissive noise, shocking Aziraphale. “What for?”

“Because _they_ use magic all the time and you can’t fight what you don’t understand,” answered Crowley. “Heaven likes to call it miracles but I don’t think it’s really any different than what demons and humans can use.” A snap of their fingers and the table turned to gold. “Some of their powers can only be blocked by magic. Wards to keep them from spying on secret meetings, traps against those who’re trying to attack us-”

She waved her hand when Crowley would have continued and the former demon restored the table with another snap when she glowered. “You’ve made your point. So how do we keep _you_ from meddling?”

Crowley’s smile sharpened. “You can’t. That’s where trust comes in. It’s a _pact_.”

“An arrangement of mutual trust,” interjected Aziraphale with a sharp look at Crowley before Granny could react to their taunting. “We are vulnerable, Granny, without anyone on our side. You said it yourself, we chose the right side this time. Well, we’d like to continue to exist and for this side to continue to exist with a planet for us all to continue to exist on.”

“Coo-ee! Esme?” called a familiar voice from the garden and Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a glance. Mrs. Ogg appeared in the doorway, a massive mangy old tomcat draped around her shoulders and a couple small glass jugs of something Crowley hoped was stronger than tea. “Leave room for Magrat to park!” she called back over her shoulder, setting the jugs and the cat down by the door and dropping into the chair next to Crowley. “Been a rough week, eh?” she said to Crowley, who snorted at the understatement and was rewarded with a grin. “Thought you mighta been a part of that.”

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise Mrs. Ogg,” said Aziraphale, smiling down at the tom who let out a rusty purr and coated Aziraphale’s pants with tufts of dark fur. “And Greebo. Hello sir,” they said, letting out a grunt when the cat jumped up and began making biscuits on their lap. “I, ow, see, ow, he’s feeling, ow, much better!”

“Oh yes, a nice little visit with you perks him right up, it does. And I told you, call me Nanny.”

Thankfully Crowley had already swallowed the sip of tea this time. “I just bet it does, _Nanny,_ ” Crowley murmured. She winked at Crowley’s arch look and it was quite clear the witch was playing Aziraphale like a kazoo, since it didn’t take much of anything to get into the former angel’s graces. Even mangy old monsters that terrorize the whole neighborhood could manage it.

“I keep saying, don’t I Azi, that you should get a cat or two for the shop. Can’t be good for a soul, spending all that time alone,” she said, pulling from her ratty bag a very lumpy mug that had clearly been made by one of her many grandchildren, as well as a silver flask from somewhere upon her person. “There’s a weaned litter out in our Jason’s barn.”

“Oh, I’d love to, uh, Nanny, but-” It was at that point that Greebo noticed Crowley and froze, having never been faced with anything quite like this before. Humans trembled when Greebo walked by, snakes knew better than to sun themselves in his garden. A combination of the two should have posed no problem, but it was, oh _it was._ Greebo broke the stare and the sound barrier on his way out the door back into the garden. “They don’t like Crowley.”

Crowley shrugged when the witches turned to look their way. “It’s not like I have anything against cats, just most of th-ahh!” Crowley whipped around, lightning in hand, to confront whatever had just _nibbled_ on one of their _non-corporeal feathers_. “Uh?”

“That’s You,” said Granny. A stately pure white cat was standing behind Crowley’s chair, tail up in a curious ? as she sniffed at the grain of residue she had dislodged, lazily swatting it into a pft of nothingness. She looked up at Crowley, who was staring open mouthed, and sauntered closer to generously curl her tail around their leg for a moment, leaving a single white hair to mark her approval.

“Hey,” Crowley protested and then suddenly the cat was in their lap and Crowley put their hands up like they were being mugged, which in a broad way, they were. “Ooh, ah, oh, I-”

“You seems to like you just fine,” Granny said, and Crowley’s sharp look caught the glint in her eye before she pushed up from the table to put the pot back on for more tea.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale and Nanny in bewilderment, scowling when Nanny just laughed. “Just pet her, love. She’ll let you know what she likes.”

Anyone could see the affection in the reformed angel’s eyes as they watched poor Crowley navigate their first actual interaction with a cat that didn’t involve mutual hissing. The two women who walked in certainly could, at least until it was hidden behind a warm but distant smile of greeting. “Hello.”

“Esk and Agnes,” said Nanny. “Meet Aziraphale and Crowley. A couple more will by later.”

The two smiled politely at Aziraphale and after a moment’s hesitation that only a celestial being or another witch would notice, offered the same welcome to Crowley. The younger, Agnes, was short and plump and dressed stylishly in dark colors, her face haloed by a riot of dark curly hair. The older, Esk, wore her mousy brown hair in a neutral bob, dressed in unassuming clothes that made her fade into the background.

This did not stop Aziraphale from recognizing her. “Dr. Eskarina Smith, what an honor to meet you! I found your most recent paper to be quite fascinating! Brilliant work.”

“I, oh, really? Well, thank you. Very few people read my work.”

“Oh, I read everything,” smiled Aziraphale. “I hope we can discuss your work at length some day?”

“Oh, er, I’d like that.”

“Let’s eat!” Nanny said, pouring some tea into her mug and wagging her flask in Crowley’s direction.

“Yes, please,” murmured the former demon with reverence, scooting the mug over with their non-petting hand. Being at the mercy of these witches, who had no reason to trust Crowley, having to hope they’d trust Aziraphale enough to take them as a package deal... On top of that it would take more than a minor miracle to get rid of the cloud of white cathair, and it was clear to Crowley they were being toyed with, and that the cat knew that they knew and would just give a slow blink and bat at their tie to demand more scritches. It called for a stiff drink and what they’d smelled in Nanny’s flask could just about get up and walk on its own.

The two younger women began getting plates and utensils while Aziraphale began to set out the still hot food, chatting about what they’d brought, doing all the small talk things that they knew Crowley wasn’t up for, not when they could tell how uncomfortable and exposed Crowley felt without their glasses on in the midst of so many strangers. It made Aziraphale smile to see that petting the cat seemed to be helping put everyone at ease.

They passed a pleasant while eating, mostly carried through by Aziraphale and Nanny. When they were done Crowley was temped to miracle the mess away but there was a glint in Granny’s eye that warned that that would not be appreciated so the old snake slouched out of their chair and helped Aziraphale and the younger women clear the table in the growing awkward silence.

Granny waited until they were seated again to say, “Our new friends here have come for advice.”

They all turned expectantly towards Aziraphale who began trying to explain. “We are, well, we _were_ -”

“Angels.” All the women turned to stare at Crowley, who gave them a sardonic smile. “Long story short, Aziraphale knew how to keep their mouth shut but I asked too many questions and got, ha ha, ‘sent down’. We were ordered to meddle with humans but also to thwarting each other’s efforts since then.”

“But then they wanted to start Armageddon,” Aziraphale said, tugging nervously at their waistcoat. “And Crowley convinced me to help thwart the ‘Great Plan’. But our plans definitely did not go as planned at all and eventually our machinations were discovered.”

“Armageddon didn’t happen anyway, but we ended up burning our bridges.”

“While we were standing on them,” murmured Aziraphale as they held out their mug to Nanny, who gave them a healthy splash. The reformed angel explained, “They were going to put us to true death, via hellfire and holy water respectively, dispersing our souls such that we could never reincorporate.”

Nanny broke the heavy silence after a moment by giving Crowley’s mug another generous helping from her flask. “Well, congratulations on surviving,” she said. “How’d you do it?”

They shared a speaking look as Crowley took a long sip and it was Aziraphale that answered. “We switched places.”

“But-”

“It was a long-shot,” shrugged Crowley. “We’d had a warning from a witch. Agnes Nutter.”

There were definite signs of recognition at that name. “So you can imitate each other so well that not even others like you can tell the difference?” Agnes asked, speaking for the first time and going red when they both turned to stare at her in consternation. “What?”

“Your voice...” It was like two separate voices twined together.

“She’s gods-touched,” said Granny shortly. “Not _that one_ , obviously, one of the locals.”

Aziraphale shook off the little shiver Agnes’ voice had sent over their wings and answered her question. “We’ve been doing something similar for ages you see. Our… bosses, weren’t too interested in the details, as long as orders were carried out. So if I’d been sent somewhere to inspire charity and Crowley was too busy to thwart me, I’d take over their assignment. It’s not hard to _tempt_ people to do goodness, goodness for the wrong reasons still counts, and it was the tempting downstairs wanted more than the greater result, you see.”

“And if I’d been sent to sow chaos and discord, and Aziraphale needed to grant grace upon those deemed ‘worthy’, I’d perform miracles for people who got exactly what they deserved,” Crowley said with a wide, sharp smile.

“But...” This time Esk spoke. “Shouldn’t it have hurt? Consecrated ground, unholy ground?”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as they turned to Crowley, who swore. “Bloody hell! You’re right! It was barely more than an...”

“Itch,” finished Aziraphale grimly. “So that’s what caused it. Or precipitated it at least.”

“We had a very bad day yesterday. It started with an itch, like a target between my shoulder-blades and it spread to my wings.” A look at Aziraphale confirmed that their experience was the same. “It felt like holy water and hellfire combined. It, uh, it,” the words clogged Crowley’s throat as they looked at Aziraphale.

“It was almost the end of us but we saved each other, again,” said the ex-angel with a tumultuous smile at Crowley. “But we’re not sure what that means for us now.”

“Seems to me,” said Granny thoughtfully, “you’ve broken their hold over you, if you survived both at once. But is it safe to test it?” She was looking at Crowley.

Crowley cleared their throat and looked at Aziraphale who was frowning in concern. “A drop won’t kill me, angel. We need to know.”

“I’ve got holy water,” said Nanny, gesturing to the jugs she’d left by the door.

“That’s not _holy_ ,” sniffed Granny.

“That’s not water!” protested Agnes.

“Is too! Mostly. Got it blessed by a priest and everything!”

Granny made a disgusted noise and got up to fetch one of the jugs, thumping it down in the center of the table. When the jug rocked on the uneven surface and tipped over in Crowley’s direction, the former demon skidded backwards, eyes wide, hands out in a defensive stance, then Aziraphale was between the table and Crowley, the room suddenly bright with scintillating golden light that felt as thought it could turn to molten shards of glass at any moment.

“STOP.”

It was easy to forget that Aziraphale, with their fussy scholarly air and warm slightly dotty smile, was most definitely not human. Even with Crowley’s eyes proclaiming their not-humanness, the human brain was very good at not seeing what it didn’t want to see, even when it belonged to a witch.

It could not be said that the witches were afraid, per se, but they might have agreed to feeling mildly worried, or perhaps slightly concerned. And they barely dared breathe or blink, as one does when one is definitely not afraid, with Granny sprawled halfway across the table, holding on to the tipped bottle. The candy-apple red sealing wax had popped free, bounced once, circled erratically and settled at the edge of the table where it visibly began to melt from its proximity to Aziraphale.

“Sorry. Never actually met anything holy water could work on,” said Granny, having to bite out every word when her body wanted to drop to its knees in true awe of the glowing reformed angel.

“Yeah, well, it usually works on me,” said Crowley with a snarl, one hand fisted in the back of the Aziraphale’s coat. They peered around Aziraphale at the bottle and tugged when they went to move away. “Wait, angel, are you sure-”

“IT WILL N- ahem, sorry. A drop won’t kill me either.” Aziraphale’s expression went soft at the worry in Crowley’s eyes. “I promise.”

The moment was broken by a little sniffle and they turned to see Agnes dabbing at her eyes. “Sorry,” she said, flapping her hand when more tears welled up. “Sorry!” she said, bolting outside.

Nanny patted Aziraphale’s arm when they gave her a dismayed look. “It’s alright, love, she just feels things a little too strongly sometimes and you’re still _radiating_ a bit.”

Aziraphale looked down at themself and blushed to see that they were indeed still glowing. “I do beg your pardon,” they said, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as the light vanished and they tugged on their waistcoat self-consciously. “Haven’t done that in a long time. Got a little carried away.”

Granny set the jug upright and waved a hand, compromising with her weakened knees by sinking back into her chair. Esk let out a long shaky breath and closed her eyes against the spots still dancing in them. Nanny took a deep drink straight from her flask and waved for Agnes to rejoin them at the table, who slunk back inside and resumed her seat, still blushing in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“I’m going to check the holy water now,” said Aziraphale, patting Crowley’s arm.

“Yeah, alright.” It took Crowley a minute to actually let go of them, both of them wary with every fibre of their beings as Aziraphale carefully uncorked the bottle.

Both of them frowned as the eye-watering scent filled the air. “Apples?” asked Aziraphale, repressing the visceral reaction they had to that scent, so similar to the cider they’d shared with Crowley that terrible night in ‘41. The scent was subtly different, and they could sense the holiness of the liquid on the cork and in the jug.

“Mostly. Made it myself,” said Nanny, almost reaching for her pipe before thinking better of it.

Aziraphale hesitantly touched a finger to the damp cork, feeling the usual inrush of power that holy water infused them with. They turned to show Crowley that nothing bad was happening besides very slow contact inebriation. “You don’t have to,” they said softly, understanding the fear in Crowley’s eyes.

It took a few false starts but Crowley stood and moved closer, also thinking of that night and the cider that had been cursed and infused with hellfire to make Aziraphale fall. But there was no curse that Crowley could sense when they checked, no lingering brimstone from hellfire. 

Crowley finally took the cork from Aziraphale's hand and everyone let out the breath they’d been holding. The former demon stood turning the cork over in their hands, thinking hard. It had been a very long time since Crowley had felt the infusion of power from holy water but they had no doubt that they were experiencing it again. On a physical level it was just cool evaporating wetness and a very strong scent of mostly apples.

“So you’re both immune,” said Granny.

“Looks like it,” said Crowley, tossing the cork from hand to hand before stoppering the jug again, wondering what it meant.

“Hello?” Another woman and a teenage girl stepped into the room, trying to make sense of the tableau before them. The two not-humans were standing by the table, the witches all sunk into their chairs as though in relief, including Granny, and the very recognizable of scent of Nanny’s scumble.

“Wotcher, Magrat, hullo Tiffany dear. Meet Aziraphale and Crowley,” greeted Nanny. “Been an interesting afternoon! Did you bring dessert? Pull up a chair and we’ll explain.”

There was another flurry of activity as more tea was brewed and served and the newcomers revealed that they had brought enough Angel Food and Devil’s Food cupcakes so that everyone could have one of each.

The one called Magrat had a halo of frizzy blond curls, and was dressed in what would probably be called hippy clothes, with a lot of jangling jewelry, while Tiffany was dressed in an old tee-shirt and faded jeans that had clearly been handed down repeatedly, as well as a pair of well worn boots.

“Haven’t I seen you on TV?” Crowley asked Magrat, who pinkened.

“Magrat was recently elected to office.” Nanny grinned and with a tone of voice that could add in- and out-nuendos to the simplest of statements, added, “And married the long lost heir to the local ruin-”

Magrat went crimson and loudly cleared her throat to keep Nanny from saying anything more and asked, “If I may, why would they burn your wings but not the rest of you?”

“Our wings are more than just appendages, they are a functional part of our souls,” said Aziraphale. “Suffice to say destroying our wings would destroy us, while destroying this body, while painful and inconvenient, would not be true death.”

“They help us channel our power, especially while in corporeal form,” Crowley added.

“Can we see?” asked one of Agnes’ voices. The other immediately replied, “No, sorry, forget I-”

“Need more room,” said Crowley, snatching up their glasses and striding towards the door, letting out a relieved sigh to be out in the sun. It was almost too much, saying all this, putting themselves on the chopping block, risking Aziraphale this way. _But what choice do we have? Running away was never really an option anyway._

The others straggled outside and Aziraphale came to stand beside Crowley. “Ready?”

Crowley circled around Aziraphale and nodded.

There were gasps of course, how could there not be. If the two celestials had been channeling their power the witches would have been temporarily blinded and probably sent to their knees, but as it was they just had to squint a bit and blink away tears if they stared too long.

Crowley’s dark wings, spread wide in the sun, shimmered with bold colors that seemed to flow and move as the primary feathers fanned apart to absorb the warmth of the sun. It was like a night sky veiled by an aurora.

Aziraphale’s wings, by contrast, had warmed from stark white to gold gilded with copper and bronze, the bright metallic feathers faintly clouded by iridescence that made them seem like a glorious ever-changing sunrise. Seeing the women blinking and squinting Aziraphale furled their wings, but hesitated to send them away.

“Too lovely in the sun,” said Crowley lowly, also furling their wings, “to put them away yet.”

Aziraphale nodded and turned expectantly to the witches. “Do you have more questions for us? We’ll answer as best we may.”

The witches shared looks and turned to Granny, who shook her head. “I think now it’s up to us.”

The reformed angel nodded, hesitated a moment but after darting a look at Crowley asked, “If we may, Granny Weatherwax, can we await your decision here, in your lovely garden?”

Granny’s eyes shifted to Crowley, positioned just slightly behind Aziraphale, taking long deep breaths, face turned up towards the sun and somehow without the jaded disdain that usually hovered around that smirking mouth. “Might as well. Shouldn’t be too long.”

She followed the parade of witches back into the house and shut the two of them out in the garden.

Aziraphale let out a shaky sigh, turning to Crowley. “Well, that went better than I expected.”

“I suppose,” Crowley said, summoning a certain black and red blanket and dropping down onto it, stretching their wings wide. “We’ll see what they decide. Not much in it for them, taking up with us. Makes ‘em even more of a target.”

“It seems like they were already making a target of themselves,” Aziraphale pointed out thoughtfully, wings partially unfurling to enjoy the sun as they pretended to watch the bees dancing with the flowers, instead watching Crowley from the corner of their eye. “I think we make very strong allies to have.”

“You are, anyway,” said Crowley, watching Aziraphale, their regard hidden by their sunglasses as the former angel relaxed into the sunlight. There was a sharp stab of guilt. _They would have been safe, if it weren’t for you,_ said the nasty little voice in the back of their mind. _They were content with their place, but you just had to push. Look at all they risked for you, **died** for you, and for what? Stuck with the likes of you? Selfish._ “M’just a snake. Couple big fangs, do you a poison I s’pose in a pinch. Good at mucking up and slithering out of things.”

Aziraphale frowned at their words, feeling a sting of something they couldn’t name when they concentrated on the strengthening bond. “Crowley.”

So much warmth and affection flooded through the bond that Crowley had to close their eyes against the tears that sprung up unwanted. They could sense the reformed angel moving to stand beside them, and they had to look, losing their breath to see Aziraphale standing back-lit by the sun, hair aglow with light, green eyes so full of fondness for them it was almost heartbreaking. “My dear, you sell yourself far too short! You survived rebelling, twice over I might add! because of your wicked cleverness. And convinced the forces of hell they were lucky to have you! And yet you still nurtured a generosity of spirit I never found among those in the halls of heaven. Not even in myself.”

Crowley just stared for a long moment, warmed by Aziraphale’s words, as utterly enchanted in that moment as they had been in the Garden. Rolling to their knees and up onto their feet, Crowley recited, “But soft? What light from yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Aziraphale is the sun.” The words had been theirs, loaned out to the bard in a night of drunken revelry that had, for once, not come back to bite them in the ass, and they were as true now as they had been then.

The reformed angel blushed and shook their head. “Crowley.”

Crowley pulled off their glasses and took a step closer. “They speak: O, speak again, bright angel!”

Aziraphale’s heart beat a little faster at the intense look in Crowley’s eyes. “I thought you didn’t like the gloomy ones,” they murmured, shifting closer, aching to reach out.

“Oh, I like to pretend they fooled everyone and ran off together in the end,” Crowley said, making light of it, pretending their heart wasn’t pounding like a drum at speaking so impulsively. At wanting to close that last bit of distance between them and not knowing how. At being afraid to discover Aziraphale’s feeling didn’t run in the same vein as theirs, or as deep. “No saving Hamlet, though. Tragedy all the way down.”

Aziraphale smiled at that, trying to sort through their jumbled emotions, already complicated but now compounded by the returning memories of the Garden and the time before the fall. Part of them wanted to confess all, but there was still so much that needed to be said and it never seemed to be the right place or time. They looked away from Crowley’s intense stare, looking out at the garden and thinking of the past. “It hurts to remember,” Aziraphale confessed.

Crowley defensively put the sunglasses back on, following Aziraphale’s gaze. “The Garden?”

“Us.” Aziraphale’s face went red at having said it that way, but didn’t take the words back when Crowley turned to stare at them. “How easy it was in the past for us to casually touch and hold hands and hug.” They darted a look at Crowley, who’d turned back to the garden, and worked up the courage to ask, “Has too much passed between us, Crowley, for us to have that again?”

“I… I don’t think so.” Crowley wiped their suddenly sweaty hand on their jeans and offered it to Aziraphale. “It _was_ pretty enjoyable. Wouldn’t mind having that again.”

Aziraphale took it with a misty smile, shifting closer. “We don’t have to hide our friendship anymore.” _We don’t have to hide anything anymore_ , they wanted to say. _Now to make myself believe it._

Crowley nodded and shifted so that their shoulders touched, careful to keep their wings from touching. “It’ll take some time, to get used to it,” they admitted lowly, staring out at Granny’s garden, ignoring the familiar ache over their heart.

“That’s okay. I know someone who can stop time if we need it,” Aziraphale said lightly, eyes crinkling with a smile when Crowley gave them a startled double-take before smirking and bumping their shoulder.

They probably would have stayed that way indefinitely, if small needle-sharp claws hadn’t begun climbing Crowley’s legs. “Ow ow owowow, getitoff!”

Aziraphale smothered a laugh, rescuing poor Crowley from a swarm of very rambunctious kittens that had decided to use the former demon as a scratching post. They were content to climb all over Aziraphale instead and purred and meowed for attention. “Where did you come from, little ones?”

“ _You_.” Crowley glared at the smug white cat when she rubbed against their shins. “Got to be hers.”

“Oh yes, that would make sense.” Aziraphale smothered another smile at Crowley’s disgruntled expression. “I’ll just take them over here and help them work off some energy, shall I?”

Crowley grunted in answer and plopped back down onto the blanket to bask, unable to keep from smiling as the former angel began cooing at the kittens. The old snake had just closed their eyes when something small but with far more gravity than it should have landed right on their solar plexus, knocking the wind from their lungs. “Oi, You!”

She just blinked and kneaded a little before curling up on Crowley’s belly with a startlingly loud purr that seem to vibrate right through their chest.

“I’m as daft as the angel,” Crowley complained as their hands sank into the soft white fur and scritched the cat’s ear. “You’re cramping my style, You,” the celestial serpent hissed, scratching under her chin and getting a slow blink as her reply. “Ugh, fine.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle at poor old Crowley, pinned down by a bit of fluff and purr. Crowley’s rude gesture just made the reformed angel chuckle more. They very much enjoyed playing with the kittens, and enjoyed even more watching Crowley bluster and grumble when they tumbled onto the old snake’s wings and curled up to nap. “Poor Crowley, should I move them?”

Crowley gave them another rude gesture, trying not to smile at their teasing. “Laugh it up, angel, I’ll remember this. You’re going to owe me big time.”

“Oh no,” said the reformed angel dryly, sitting down by Crowley’s feet on the blanket and unfurling their wings again. “Oh, woe. See how I tremble and quake.”

Crowley barked out a laugh, pushing up onto one elbow to get a better look at Aziraphale. “What’s gotten into you?”

Aziraphale inhaled deeply and looked out at the garden before looking back at Crowley, letting themself feel hopeful as they admitted, “Freedom. I don’t have to be the nice one anymore.”

The former demon drew down their glasses and gave Aziraphale a long considering look before a true smile curled their lips upward. “It looks good on you, angel.”

**∞**

The sun was low in the sky when the witches reemerged, and they all stopped by the door to take in the sight before them. Aziraphale was sitting by Crowley’s feet, wings open to the westering sun, Crowley’s own wings pinned by sleeping kittens as they petted You, listening to Aziraphale lowly read aloud from the book.

It was You who noticed the witches first, giving a slight trill and having a long stretch before waking the kittens and leading them away. Aziraphale and Crowley quickly stood and dusted themselves off, sending their wings away as they moved towards the witches and met in the middle of the garden. “So?” asked Crowley.

“We have some terms to our arrangement,” said Esk to the two celestials, holding up a list written on the back of an envelope. When they nodded she read, “One, you will not alter, harm or control our thoughts, memories, feelings, bodies, souls or other biological or supernatural functions without consent.”

“Agreed.”

“Two, you will teach us all about magic and how to protect ourselves and others from those who will use magic to cause harm.”

“Agreed.”

“Three, you will only meddle in human affairs to thwart the actions of our enemies or to help those in need.” This was with a pointed look at Crowley who smirked.

“Agreed.”

“In return, we offer you our cooperation, in thwarting our enemies and helping those in need.”

“Agreed.”

“We offer you our trust; that you will keep your word, that you will protect us and teach us and give guidance when asked.”

“Agreed.”

“And we offer you our belief.” She angled a look at Granny, who sniffed but did not object. “That you are kind and clever, wise and just; that you know both good and evil and choose good; and that none may destroy your vessel or the soul that burns within.”

The two celestials shared a surprised look but said, “Agreed.”

“You do understand the ramifications of this, don’t you?” asked Aziraphale, looking into their eyes. “This is very dangerous. You are risking your lives, possibly your souls-”

“We were already risking ‘em,” interrupted Granny. “Didn’t look like they much cared about us while they were staging the end of the world over in Tadfield, did it? Can’t be having with that. So, we have a deal?”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who pulled off their glasses and grinned as the sun dropped below the horizon. “We’ve got a deal.”

There probably should have been a clap of thunder, or the rumble of an earthquake, or the moon turning red as blood, but the evening held only the mundane sounds of billions of little lives being lived and the short wet squeak of a life being lost to Greebo.

“So, how would you like to formalize this?” asked Aziraphale, who had amassed documentation on a great many esoteric rites and secretive pacts, an unfortunate number of which were rather distasteful.

They both perked up when Nanny laughed and held up one of the jugs of ‘holy water’. “Oh, we’ve got that all planned out already, don’t you worry, Azi!”

Granny led them into the forest, straight to a meadow very recently shorn to expose a handful of towering ancient stones dropped there by a glacier and rearranged by people a great many years ago. They stood mostly upright in a wide rough circle and the inside had a smaller circle of stones around a blackened patch, with boulders, logs and one very rusty camp chair scattered around the firepit.

The witches moved around to what seemed to be their usual spots, with Granny anchoring the north side from on a boulder and Nanny on the south in the camp chair. “’Ere now, Aziraphale, you’re in the east, and you’re in the west, Crowley, right, so.” She patted her pockets until she found a battered box of matches and tossed them to Tiffany. “Get the fire started, Tiff and I’ll set to pouring our libations.”

You could practically hear Granny rolling her eyes as Nanny cackled, but she held out her freshly carved tiny wooden cup just the same when Nanny came around. The fire was crackling away merrily when Nanny poured Tiffany’s cup and then her own, carefully corking the jug and setting it safely behind one of the stones.

“Now we’re going to toast, then drink, and then toss the cups into the fire to seal the deal.” She held her cup aloft, waiting until everyone else had followed before saying, “Bottoms up!” Everyone quickly tossed the liquid back and somehow managed to all throw the cups in the fire at the same time.

It only lasted about ten seconds, but the pillar of flame that roared up lit the sky for miles around and would be the topic of speculation in the surrounding towns for a long time to come.

For the witches, it lasted a great deal longer than ten seconds, but also not, because they’d been momentarily blown outside of reality by the force of it. The witches still fundamentally looked the same in the vision, only surrounded by tangles and webs of magic made visible. Towering protectively above them were the two celestial beings they had just made the arrangement with, their wings encircling them protectively.

When the pillar burned out power steamrolled over all of them and they were back in their bodies again around the cheery little campfire, blessedly drunk and well insulated from what they had just witnessed. Mortals don’t go around looking celestial beings in the (sometimes far far too many) eyes too often for a reason, that being that they prefer their brains to stay between their ears and not turned into jam.

Aziraphale staggered backwards and slid down the face of the nearest standing stone with a little woozy sigh, startled to find their wings were out. Their eyes blearily focused on the tiny sputtering flames dancing along the edge of their left wing.

Crowley stumbled and splayed their wings, trying to keep their balance, but fell onto their rear with a thump. “Holy-”

“Hellfire.” Aziraphale hiccuped a laugh, poking a curious finger at one of the tongues of unholy fury, putting it out. “Huh. What’d turn holy water to hellfire?” There was a very dangerous crackling hiss from the west that none of the witches looked at, but Aziraphale smiled fondly across the way and blew out the remaining tongues of hellfire like birthday candles. “M’fine, Crowley, see? Just a tickle.”

“Mossstly applesss,” hissed Crowley at Nanny, trying and failing to get back into their human seeming.

“It is!” she insisted.

“And where them apples mostly from, ya loon?” Granny demanded from flat on her back.

“They’re from, oooh.” A pause while Nanny’s thoughts got themselves in order. “But it’s not like that anymore. Old place burned down ov’r a der- dor- ten year ago. Issa hotel er sommat now. Lots of posh cars and such. Haven’t a use f’r an orchard anymore so they sell the bushels cheap.”

“Wait, wait, waitwaitwait,” said Aziraphale. “Near Tadfield? Satin-ish nuns?”

“Sssatanic,” Crowley corrected. “You made sscider with unholy applesss?”

“They’re just apples, not a damned thing evil about them! I et dozens of ‘em myself.” Nanny was puffing away at her pipe. “I _can_ sense the difference you know. We all can. Knew you wern’t any more evil than we are.”

Magrat struggled upright, checking her hair to make sure she hadn’t caught on fire because her brain certainly felt as though she had. “Maybe the area’s evil?” she suggested.

“And som’thin in the water hid it?” guessed Tiffany.

“Yeah, _holiness_ ,” said Agnes.

“Got burned away in the fire,” said Esk.

“I’m too drunk for this,” said Aziraphale. There was a long pause followed by a small, “Oh dear.” Crowley’s words were not nearly so mild. They’d tried to burn the alcohol from their system as Aziraphale had, only to find that they couldn’t. “How long does this usually last?”

“Few hours,” said Nanny, puffing out a few smoke rings. “Usually. I tried a new recipe last year, ran short of my reg’lar bits ‘n’ bobs.”

“Let me guessss. Ol’ family recipe from Agnes Nutter?” The connotations of two ciders that could be turned to hellfire were trying to form in Crowley's mind, but the blessed drink was making it impossible to think of much of anything for any length of time.

“P’rhaps. Done right by a lot of us, has old Agnes. You’ll survive a hangover.”

Aziraphale considered trying to get up, but thought better of it. “Can we have one of those bottles, Nanny? I think it’ll prove useful, when I can think clearly again.”

“Suit yourself. How about a song?”

Nanny serenaded her captive audience for a while, driving off the younger ones before Granny finally demanded help getting home and the two older witches tottered back to Granny’s cottage, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone with the smoldering fire.

“Hello,” murmured Aziraphale when Crowley slithered over, their large horn-crowned serpentine head bobbing drunkenly as they looked the former angel over. “That’s new,” the former angel said, gently touching Crowley’s face, surprised by how warm their scales were, sliding their fingers along their spiky brow to touch the closest horn. They were branched and curved in such a way to look like crescents circling around an empty space over Crowley’s head.

“S’old,” corrected Crowley, resting their head on Aziraphale’s lap when they began stroking their fingers over Crowley’s scales. “Don’t like to remember.”

“Me neith'r.” Aziraphale’s thoughts and memories were blessedly dulled by Nanny’s scumble. Thinking of the past brought a terrible sense of grief, but there was righteous anger too. “It’s ver’ good that I’m too drunk to move.”

“Yesss,” agreed Crowley, coiling protectively around Aziraphale, too drunk to feel any trepidation at the contact. They let out a laughing hiss. “I don’t think we got the better ssside of the bargain.”

“No. We prob’ly should’ve asked what _else_ they’d decided to believe about us first.”


	6. Miracle Hangover Cure (Thursday)

“What time do you think it is?” Aziraphale asked, laying in the center of Crowley’s serpentine coils. Overhead the sky was brilliant with stars.

Crowley looked up and hummed thoughtfully. “After midnight.”

“How do you know?”

“Moon set was at eleven-forty-ishhh,” they said. “I like the moon. Always been able t’sense it.”

Aziraphale nodded in agreement. “It’s a good moon. One of yours?”

“Oh, don’t think so, more of a ssstar and nebula fan, m’ssself. Lotsss of lightsss and colorsss.”

“Ahhh. That explains the wings. Very lovely, I thought to m’self, looks like an arr, arroor, hissy night rainbow. And these scales, quite beautiful.”

“Thanks, angel.” Crowley nudged Aziraphale’s shoulder with their snout. “Ssshould we go back to the garden?”

Aziraphale was taken back by the question for a moment until it dawned they meant Granny’s garden. “We prob’ly should. Ooh, the blanket’s there. Not sure I can walk though. Can’t really feel m’legs.”

“Not much help there,” said Crowley. “Can’t even find mine.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully and realized they’d started humming one of the songs Nanny had been singing. “’Ere, help me up?” Crowley’s coils flexed and shifted, gently helping Aziraphale to their feet. They rocked unsteadily for a moment before calling up their magic.

Crowley blinked at the flash of light and blinked again. Instead of a human form there was a massive golden cat that looked like a cross of leopard and a cheetah with feathered wings, of a size to Crowley’s serpent form. “That’s a look,” said Crowley, rearing up and wobbling drunkenly.

“That’s better. More legs.”

“Haven’t seen that in...”

“Haven’t been able to use it since I was d’moted to principality. But I like this form so ha!” After a few stumbles they recalled how to use more than two legs at a time and rubbed up against Crowley. “D’you want a ride? Got extra legs.” Crowley slid onto Aziraphale’s back, draping their coils around the muscular frame between Aziraphale’s cupped wings, surprised when they began to purr. “You are very hug shaped.”

“Only to you, angel.”

When they arrived in Granny’s garden they found the others’ cars were all still parked, but there weren’t any lights coming from the cottage. Aziraphale paced around on the blanket and settled in, Crowley still draped over their back. “I think sleep might be our only option,” the cat grumbled after another attempt to clear the alcohol from their system.

“I’ll guard you,” Crowley promised lowly.

“I don’t think you need to, not here. I pity anything that comes here without an invitation.”

Crowley laughed. “Like us?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale yawned. “I’ve slept more in the past few days than all before. Ever before?”

“What’s Agnes Nutter playing at?”

“Long game.”

“Different game alt’gether,” Crowley murmured, coiling back around Aziraphale.

“Hmm.” The reformed angel’s thoughts dwelled on that until they drifted off to sleep.

∞

Morning came far too early and far too brightly for everyone involved. Crowley woke up curled against the ex-angel’s leonine side, tucked under Aziraphale’s wing. “I thought I’d imagined that,” Crowley said to themself, uncoiling and shifting, scrambling to their feet with a groan.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale made a low growl when they opened their eyes and quickly shut them again. “Goodness, why do humans drink if they have to deal with this afterward?”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it,” Crowley agreed. “You might want to get human before they wake up, angel. Giant wingy extinct lions might be a bit alarming with this kind of hangover.”

“I suppose so.” The shift back wasn’t nearly as flashy and shortly Aziraphale was sitting on the blanket, clutching their head. “What was the part that wasn’t apples? Hammers? Anvils?”

“Why couldn’t they believe we’re immune to hangovers?” Crowley grumbled, helping Aziraphale to their feet.

“I don’t think anyone would get away with that with witches,” Aziraphale said, very slowly bending over to pick up the blanket. “We’re lucky it’s just a hangover.”

Crowley made a face. “Fair enough.”

When no more magic happened, Tiffany very cautiously walked out the back door, squinting against the brightness of the morning. “We’re making tea if you’d like some.”

The pair of them shuffled cautiously closer to the cottage, walking as thought they feared their heads might fall off. “Thank you, Tiffany. I am really rather parched and could do with tasting something not-apple.”

She snorted and nodded, then pinched the bridge of her nose in regret. “This is the strongest batch I’ve ever had. I’ve a feeling it had a lot more to it than Nanny lets on. Anvils _and_ hammers perhaps.”

“Of that there is no doubt,” Aziraphale agreed with a chuckle. It was a relief to step into the darkness of the cottage where Agnes was putting the pot back onto the stove, the other witches nursing their mugs and looking the worse for wear. And drink.

Their combined discomfort shimmered across Crowley’s senses like static. “Bugger this for a lark,” Crowley growled. “Who wants a miracle hangover cure?” There was a low pathetic chorus of agreement and Crowley snapped their fingers, letting out a relieved breath when the miracle worked and everyone sighed in relief. “Hung over is no way to start an arrangement.”

“Thank you, my dear, that was rather uncomfortable.” Aziraphale settled onto the chair they’d had the day before. “I think the first order of business is to set up protections for all of you.”

“And here. Especially here,” said Crowley, looking out into the garden. “If you agree, Granny.”

She nodded. “I’m rather partial to it myself. Rather not have anyone coming uninvited.”

Aziraphale cringed slightly but beamed at Agnes when she handed them a mug of tea. “Excellent! And we can use this as your first lesson in magic!”

Crowley couldn’t help but grin when the younger women all let out a groan, and the old snake slouched against the doorjamb to watch Aziraphale in their element. It brought back very old memories as they began talking, of how much Aziraphale loved teaching, never making their pupils feel foolish for asking questions or not understanding. How heartbroken they’d been when they were ordered to stop teaching. Upstairs hadn’t liked that Aziraphale never limited themself to just the approved subjects, or to the approved pupils. It had been a hard time for the angel and only Crowley’s suggestion of opening a bookstore had perked them up. And then Paris, and what happened after Paris that had Crowley sleeping most of the next century away.

“Crowley.”

They jerked a little, coming out of their thoughts. “Sorry, angel, what was that?”

“I said, do you know when moon rise is? For this spell, it’s best if it’s cast at moon rise, calling upon the symbolic resonances-” The reformed angel explained the significance to the witches, and Crowley waited to interject the answer when Aziraphale paused.

It was then that Crowley noticed the looks everyone kept giving Granny. She didn’t seem any different to Crowley but it was clear something was going on under the surface. When there was a break in Aziraphale’s lesson Crowley made an excuse to saunter outside, going to lean against the apple tree with their back to the cottage.

Less than a minute later Granny was standing beside them and Crowley repressed a smile. Gestured out at the garden and asked, “How do you get everything to grow so well, Granny?”

“I listen. Sometimes I tells them, but mostly I listen.”

Crowley gave her a startled look. “Haven’t tried that before.”

She harrumphed and they stood in silence for a moment before she finally said, “I don’t like it.”

“Had a feeling.”

“It’s wizards’ magic. Ain’t got use for wizards or their nonsense.”

Crowley raised their eyebrows in question but didn’t break the silence.

“Men mucking about where they’re not wanted or needed. Fiddling with things they’ve no business with. It’s not right for witches to be playing with _wizardry._ ”

“What does sex have to do with it?” Crowley smirked at her frown. “Do you think magic cares what’s in your pants? Or your brain? Or your DNA? _They_ don’t have any of those things and will use whatever power they can to make sure they get their war, Granny.”

She scowled, staring out over the garden. “They didn’t want to let Esk into their precious college. Too stupid to see the talent sitting right in front of them because it was inside a girl. Ignored the signs of things going wrong too many times to count. Useless old windbags, the lot o’ them. You can’t make us work together.”

“Er, fair enough. That’s not how we work anyway. But I suggest you _think_ , Granny, about all those shut out when you divide everything into those neat little boxes. Female, Male, Young, Old, Witch, Wizard, Nice, Bad. Lots of people don’t fall neatly into piles. Aziraphale and I certainly don’t!” Another sharp grin, and just the slightest shimmer of magic made it clear Crowley could make their human body look any way they wanted. “We’re going to need every ally we can get if we want to keep our turf.”

“Is it? Your turf I mean?” she asked. “Seems you two came from a long way off.”

“We’ve made it ours.” Crowley inhaled and let out a slow breath. “And it made us. Can’t spend centuries in a place and not be changed. Where we were from doesn’t even exist anymore, except some rubble eaten by the sand.” They looked towards Granny. “Does it bother you, that we’re here?”

“I invited you.” She met their eyes. “Both of you. I may be old, old snake, but I’m ain’t dead yet. Plenty of time left in these bones to learn a new trick or two.”

Crowley’s lips lifted in the slightest of smiles. “And teach a few?”

She didn’t exactly smile but there was a definite glint in her eye. “Them’s who come uninvited with bad intentions should learn to watch where they step.”

“Granny?” They turned towards Aziraphale, who was standing worriedly beside the door. “We should get ready if we’re going to cast the spell today.”

Crowley looked towards her, one eyebrow raised and she huffed but went to rejoin the others. Crowley followed a minute or so later, following Aziraphale’s orders as they wrangled everything and one into place. Even the cats participated.

It was almost anti-climactic when nothing but the faintest shimmer passed over them when it was complete. It wasn’t until they moved closer together that any difference became obvious, as swirls of magic appeared around the witches and both Aziraphale and Crowley sprouted little translucent wings from their shoulders. “Excellent,” beamed Aziraphale. “Only those keyed to the spell can sense what it reveals, which will be a significant advantage against those of a magical nature. We really are prone to underestimating humans, especially those of us who don’t spend much time on earth.”

“Do you think it likely they’ll come here?” Agnes asked with both voices.

“I don’t honestly know. Better safe than sorry,” said Aziraphale with a reassuring smile.

“I need to be getting home,” Magrat said with a hint of reluctance. “Have a committee to oversee this evening.”

“Well, any time you’re in London, do stop in at my shop. And we’ll of course come visit,” Aziraphale said, expression wistful as the others all made their farewells, soon leaving just Granny and Nanny.

“Oi, dammit, I forgot, which of you cursed my car?” Crowley demanded when Nanny began gathering up her things. “ _Queen’s Greatest Hits_?”

Granny frowned, clearly not understanding what Crowley was referring to or why Nanny was grinning. “What did you do Gytha?”

“Nothing, Esme.” She radiated such innocence that Aziraphale did a double-take. She said to Crowley, “I didn’t set the spell but I might be able to do something about it. I’ll need a good look at the car. Better yet you can give me a ride home. See you later Esme.”

Granny just rolled her eyes and waved them away, closing the door after them.

Aziraphale immediately agreed to keep Greebo calm in the back seat so that Nanny could sit in the front. Crowley just let out a heavy sigh and followed the witch and the lion to the Bentley. Nanny made a show of circling the car and poking around the interior before settling into the driver’s seat, grinning widely. “Coo-ee, you sure do have style, Crowley, no doubt about it.”

Crowley smirked and shook their head. “I’m not letting you drive it, Nanny. Honestly, I don’t know that anyone else could drive it, even if I’d let them.” Their eyes slid to Aziraphale, who didn’t seem to have heard their statement.

She gave a shrug and moved around to the passenger seat, giving a coo to the contented tom cat purring in Aziraphale’s arms. “Well, I can tell you who set it, though not how, or why.”

Crowley settled into the seat. “Tell me.”

“It was Agnes Nutter,” Nanny admitted. “I don’t know how she did it but it has her signature. I noticed it when I walked up yesterday. Follow this road down into town.”

Crowley did as told. “And do you know why?”

Nanny shrugged. “Some prophecy or other I assume. Any idea what it meant?”

Crowley looked into the mirror at Aziraphale, who was smiling faintly. “You explain it.”

“Oh, well, are you familiar with chess, Nanny?” She hummed in assent but kept her eyes forward, clearly a little put off by Crowley’s driving. “When a pawn makes it across the board-”

“Queened!” She opened her mouth, then shut it again, clearly deciding better of whatever she was going to say. “Turn right up here. So you’re saying she was trying to tell you, what exactly?”

“No idea,” shrugged Aziraphale. “I can’t imagine it was a phrase that would have made any sense to her, and clearly Queen the band didn’t exist yet.”

“But she’d know about power, and royalty is pretty darn powerful. And you was wearing a crown, Azi, in that vision.”

Aziraphale stared at her in shock. “I what?”

“We wondered if you’d seen what we’d seen. You had a sword and a balance and a crown. Terrible and grand, the pair of you.”

Crowley had been nodding in agreement but shot her a frown. “What? Why?”

Aziraphale and Nanny both gave Crowley a look. “You turned into a dragon, my dear.”

There was a swerve and a skid of gravel but Crowley recovered before they went into the hedge. “What the heaven do you mean I turned into a _dragon_?!” Crowley looked in the mirror at Aziraphale, and then at Nanny, trying to tell if they were joking. They were not.

“Horns, claws, wings,” said Nanny. “We figure they were visions of what you were, _before,_ so to speak. Tiffany looked it up, seems dragons and serpents and seraphim were one in the same way back in the day.”

“Oh yes, they share a root-” Aziraphale broke off when Crowley glared. “Well it’s true. And I saw you with my own eyes.”

“All fifty of ‘em,” Crowley grumbled and Nanny didn’t bother to hide her laughter. Aziraphale pouted and Crowley soothed, “I’m kidding, angel. Couldn’t have been more that a dozen, tops.”

“I only saw two,” Nanny reassured Aziraphale, who gave her a grateful smile and the grinning Crowley a sneer.

“So our astral natures have changed. Maybe reverted, but maybe not. It’s something to think on,” Aziraphale said, looking off into the distance. “It’s a lot to think on.”

“For what it’s worth, I think we’ve got time before anything big happens,” said Nanny, pointing at a house to pull up at. It was in the middle of the village, with a nice little front yard carefully tended by some of Nanny’s many offspring. “Doesn’t mean they won’t try for you again, of course, but now you’ve got some friends, eh?” she said, giving Crowley a sharp smile that reassured the old snake in ways they couldn’t quite articulate. Much like with Aziraphale, it was easy to overlook Nanny as a ridiculous old woman, which she was, _on purpose._ There was clearly a quick mind behind the daffy smile, especially considering the company she kept.

“Yes.”

She beamed at the simple agreement and shuffled out of the car, readjusting something with an elastic twang before leading them through the gate up to the front door. Inside, she called out, “Coo-ee? Anyone?” When there was no response she waved them inside. “Welcome to my humble home. Have a seat and I’ll be right back.”

Crowley lounged in the nearest chair as Aziraphale wandered the cluttered living room, magicking away some of the cat hair from their clothes, looking through the many many pictures of Nanny’s extended family. Scattered among the many smiling faces were those of the witches, and even one of Nanny and Magrat with who could only be Granny as a younger woman, posing in front of a tourist trap somewhere in the United States. She was smiling. Aziraphale showed it to Crowley with a silent eyebrow raise.

“That seems unlikely,” agreed Crowley lowly, handing it back when they heard Nanny returning.

“Ay, Azi, can I get a favor? Could you make this look like the Bentley?” She passed an dented old toy car into Aziraphale’s hands and moved to stand in front of Crowley, who eyed her warily.

“Oh, uh, certainly.” Aziraphale was far more familiar with the car than the former demon realized, barely needing a moment to think about it before turning it around in their hands and offering back a perfect replica of the Bentley as it currently looked.

“Excellent.” Nanny took it and held it to her heart and closed her eyes for a moment before offering it to Crowley. “I hereby offer this sacred vehicle to the Guardian of the Western Gate, Herald of Dusk, Keeper of Secrets and Storms,” she said, wagging her eyebrows when they both just stared at her, shocked to hear those titles again after so very long.

Crowley reluctantly held out their hand. “Er, I, uh, accept your generous gift, uh, giver of gifts?”

She grinned and dropped the toy into their outstretched hand, nodding when there was a little spark of something magical at the contact. “Out to the car now,” she ordered, forging ahead of them. She pulled a little vial out of somewhere and began moving around the car, dabbing little bits of the liquid on to it, silencing Crowley’s objections with a sharp look.

“Get in,” she ordered both of them, getting into the back and dabbing more spots inside the car while Aziraphale sat on the passenger side. “Put it here.” Crowley did as told, neither of them really surprised when magic began to gather at the edge of their senses. Clearly Nanny didn’t have any qualms about using ‘wizardry’, and using it well.

She pointed at the radio and, as expected, Queen began playing. “-big fat Fanny, she was such a naughty nanny-” A wicked grin creased her face and she finished the spell by letting one drop of the liquid fall onto the top of the miniature Bentley.

There was a _pop_ that had nothing to do with sound, and a little spark of magic manifested out of the radio and drifted midair before being sucked into the toy with a sensation like having your ears pop, but on a metaphysical level.

Nanny corked the bottle and gave a pleased nod. “That should do it! Can’t fix the bits the curse already got ahold of I’m afraid, but it shouldn’t affect anything new. Keep it,” she said, waving it away when Crowley offered the altered toy back to her. “Who knows what trouble it’d cause if I let the babies play with it again after all that,” she laughed.

“I really appreciate it, Nanny. What can I do for you?”

It was clear the former demon was quite serious but Nanny just grinned. “Watching you make Esme squirm a bit has been payment enough, love. She’s my best friend but there’s times when she’ll drive you to drink. Speaking of which, both bottles are in the back, wrapped ‘em up in your tartan. I’ve a feeling they’re not for the regular drinking of by mere mortals. Don’t mix it with metal unless you want things to get very exciting.”

“I must say,” said Aziraphale lightly, “it was very lucky everyone had the time to come meet us on such short notice, Nanny. I do hope we didn’t upset anyones schedules too much.”

Nanny gave them a wink and a grin. “Lucky, sure.” She startled Crowley by leaning over and pressing a kiss to their cheek. “I’ll expect you back next week.” She clambered out and gave Aziraphale a big hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Bring more of that sushi, will you Azi? Can’t get it for the life of me out here!”

“We will,” Aziraphale promised with a smile that might have been a little misty. They both waved when she stopped at the door and she gave them another grin before going inside.

They exchanged a look before the car started and they pulled away from the curb and Crowley navigated back towards London. “We have been played for suckers,” Aziraphale announced, their smile blossoming when Crowley let out a bark of laughter.

“Oi, have we ever!”


	7. Boffo!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clear the air a little. Meeting our first wizard. Also, Boffo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatively light and fluffy. I just figure they need a break after so much excitement.

The ride back to London was Queen free, but also conversation free, and Aziraphale didn’t know quite what to say when Crowley pulled up in front of the shop but didn’t seem inclined to get out of the car. The ex-angel nervously rubbed their hands on their trousers and asked, “Coming in?”

Crowley nodded and followed Aziraphale into the shop, locking the door behind themself and leaning back against it. “You’ve been over-thinking something.”

Aziraphale gave a little laugh and shrugged, wandering aimlessly. “I suppose I have. Rather a lot has happened, and I know you’ve got things to do and a life of your own-”

Crowley stiffened at those words. “I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.”

The blankness of Crowley’s tone was a knife to the heart. “No! Crowley, that’s not what I want whatsoever.” Aziraphale sighed, wringing their hands, trying to find the words and the courage to say them. “I enjoy spending time with you, having you here, I’ve always enjoyed spending time with you. But I don’t want to be a burden to you. Or, or a weight, holding you back from doing things. It’s not fair for me to keep you here just because I’m afraid to be alone.”

“You’re not a burden, angel, and we’ve got reason to be afraid.” Crowley pushed away from the door to prowl around. “And I… er I like being with you too. Figured you knew. Best friend and all that.”

Aziraphale gave them a faint smile. “Even so. Not fair of me to make you waste your time here.”

Crowley smirked. “It’s not like I’ve a lot to do now that we’ve gone freelance, angel.” They stopped prowling to look at the anxious ex-angel. “But I will need to look into some things...”

“Alone,” Aziraphale finished for them, nodding. “I understand. But, um, about, er,” they twisted their hands together, missing the soothing feel of the ring. “What about at night?” Aziraphale cheeks went red when Crowley’s brows winged upwards. “There isn’t really a place to sleep here, I mean, I’ve been needing to rest more often than I used to and I don’t want to risk falling asleep here but I don’t want to intrude-”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled, moving closer to murmur. “I gave you a key when I bought the place. You are always welcome. You’ve always been welcome.”

“I know you did, but I just assumed you were being ni- kind. Returning the favor. You never actually invited me over, you know. Until after...”

“What, you’re a vampire now, that I need to invite you over the threshold?” Aziraphale made an annoyed noise and Crowley chuckled. “You’re invited now, okay? I’m going to check on some things, alright? Come over when you’re tired, or just, need something or whenever. Stay as long as you like. Don’t compliment the plants!” Crowley warned with a mostly playful growl. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Aziraphale murmured. They tugged on the hem of their waistcoat, their smile going nervous as they shifted towards Crowley. “I’ll see you later?”

“I, yeah, course.” Crowley fidgeted and gave Aziraphale a quick tight hug before hurrying out of the shop. “Call me if anything happens, okay?”

“I will.” Aziraphale watched them go and switched the sign to open. They began to sort through the pile of mail they’d been neglecting the last few days, letting their thoughts drift back to how the shop used to be. For a long time they would barely sell a book at all, barely even opened the door. And it had been dark and miserable and musty in the shop, until Crowley had complained some time in the 1970s. It had taken a great many long roundabout conversations but they eventually convinced Aziraphale to clean the place up and to stock common books that it didn’t hurt to sell. That customers weren’t actually enemies, though even now Aziraphale wasn’t so sure about that sometimes. It brought a warm glow, looking at the shop now and feeling how much happier they felt in it, knowing it was because of Crowley.

When the door opened Aziraphale cringed and jumped up, hating the jolt of fear that went through their system. “Ah, uh, good morning. Can I help you with anything today?”

“Is it okay if I browse?” asked the young man, peering through his very thick glasses at the interior of the shop like he’d just found a treasure trove. “One of my colleagues suggested I come in.”

“Oh yes, feel free,” said Aziraphale, settling back down at the desk. “Let me know if anything piques your interest.”

The first customer was still wandering around when another one opened the door, again sending a jolt of fear through the reformed angel. By the third, they didn’t feel the need to jump up, ready to defend themself, and by the fifth, Aziraphale barely looked over from ringing up the second and third customers.

When not dealing with those in the shop Aziraphale spent time calling up customers who had orders ready, and when that was done, checking the newspapers for auctions and estate sales. One that caught their attention was a book fair to be held the following week, at a small private school the former angel had only heard of in passing. They circled the notice in red, looking up as that first man approached the desk with a book in hand, a hesitant smile on his older-than-first-appeared face.

And when he was about five feet away, magic swirled to life around him, invisible to all but Aziraphale, who instantly recognized the signature of wizardry. “You-” Aziraphale coughed and tried to keep their expression neutral. “Ah, haven’t been in before. You said a colleague recommended it?”

“Oh yes, uh, Dr. Eskarina Smith? She’s a colleague and former student of mine. She said you carried, uh, more esoteric works than most other bookstores?” Everything about the man spoke of caution, as thought he were worried Aziraphale would blow up at a moment’s notice.

“Yes...” Aziraphale agreed reluctantly. They looked down at the book, which was just a new work of fiction. “Is there something in particular that you’re interested in?”

“Uh, she, uh, mentioned books of prophecy?” He looked around to see if anyone was nearby and leaned closer to whisper, “And magic?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale let the silence go on, something they had learned over many years of dealing with people would get a confession faster than questions ever could.

“I, uh, me and a few of the others, well, professors mostly and a few students, are all, uh...”

“Wizards.”

The man goggled and looked around worriedly. “How did you know?”

“My sort can recognize the type,” said Aziraphale, rolling their eyes when the man blushed deeply and began shaking his head in denial. “Not that kind of type, er- what is your name?”

“Oh, uh, I’m Dr. Ponder Stibbons, over at the Unseen University.”

**∞**

Maybe Nanny Ogg was being honest about who had set the spell, or maybe she wasn’t, but it didn’t matter because Crowley had more than a few tricks up their sleeves for tracking down a spellcaster. Especially with a very well preserved example of their spellwork sitting on the passenger seat. Once away from the bookshop, Crowley set the bespelled toy car on the dash and growled, “Show me.”

Magic coalesced around the toy, lifting it just enough so it could move freely and it swiveled towards the east. It wasn’t long before Crowley was pulling up in front of a shop with a sign proclaiming, “Boffo’s Novelty and Joke Emporium” and a display window showing a full set of stage magic props as well as fake poop, fake vomit and a very fake stuffed white cat. There was another display window, this one full of Spooky ™ decorations, another stuffed cat, black of course, as well as rubber monster masks, stage makeup and wigs.

 _Oh no, you've got to be kidding me._ Crowley stared at the shop with a kind of fascinated horror. _Now we’ll have no end of bad stage magic._ It never occurred to the former demon to not tell Aziraphale about the shop or what it carried. Only that it would be very regrettable.

The door didn’t have a bell or chime, instead a horribly real fart ripped through the hidden speakers. Crowley just sighed and prowled towards the counter where a man was industriously writing in a small notebook, brow furrowed with thought. He perked up when he saw Crowley and then his eyes went wide when he saw Crowley’s expression. “Ma! We’ve got a real one!”

“Alright, alright, just about got the fiddly bit done.” It was the archetypal voice of the Crone, scratchy and low, and when Crowley turned towards where it had come from the ex-demon had to blink to be sure what they were seeing was real. She had warts, and a hooked nose, and a pointy chin and hands that were mostly knobs. “Now, Derek, you shouldn’t make ass-” she pulled up short, “umptions. Oh. Well, you’re certainly a real something anyway. I’m Mrs. Eunice Proust.”

Crowley grinned. “And you’re a witch. Who cursed my car about thirty years ago?”

She didn’t pretend to not know what they were talking about and instead waved for Crowley to follow. “You know, she warned me this day would come, but I didn’t actually believe her? Should’ve known better, I suppose.”

“Of course,” said Crowley, staring as the witch led them into the basement, which was entirely set up as a laboratory. There were trial prosthetics in various stages of production, as well as a number of items in the process of being enchanted. “Agnes sure gets around for someone who’s been dead a few centuries.”

“She is a rather driven soul. But then, she is trying to save the world.” The witch waved Crowley towards a stool and settled herself down across from them. “Tea?” She waved towards a cauldron bubbling green and purple.

“Uh, no, thanks. So she tell you why she wanted you to curse my car in particular?”

“She didn’t actually. Met by accident when I was at a shop in Soho, they were having a séance, very delightfully spooky and silly of course. But then Agnes started whispering to me. We made a bargain, I let her cast a few spells, she helped with a few… issues, haven’t heard from her since.”

It was too neat, but Crowley didn’t want to press. “What other spells? Any of them involve a book store? A. Z. Fell and Co.?”

“How did you know?”

“Educated guess. Just, how do I take it off? It belongs to my, to someone I know and-”

“Then why in the world would you want to take it off? An anti-spying spell that’s been renewed by five witches and five wizards every solstice and equinox for the last two hundred and thirty years is probably worth my weight in, in I don’t even know what!”

Crowley stared. “I, uh, oh. That long? Wait a bloody minute, why’d they get an anti-spying spell and I got-”

“Like it wouldn’t be noticed by your bosses?” she interrupted. “Humans casting a _blessing_ on a _demon_? A curse though, par for the course, eh? And it did its job, making it so neither side could listen in on you _fraternizing_ with an angel,” she smirked.

Crowley was up on their feet, lightning in hand. “What do you know about us?”

It was her turn to blink. “Probably should have worded that better,” she said mildly. “Remember Agnes the dead prophetess? I know it’s not needed anymore because you’re out of their hands now. Also, your friend’s nature isn’t exactly a secret? At least not in my circle. You’re less well known but the retired nuns do tend to gossip and Nanny is very good at listening. Doubt the wizards noticed anything though, as long as they got their tenure or grants or whatever Agnes promised them for helping.”

Crowley let the lightning dissipate as heat creeped across their cheeks. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“I think tea would be a good idea, hmm?” Eunice got up and pulled an electric kettle out from behind the prop cauldron. Over her shoulder she said, “Also, Agnes told me to introduce Granny and Nanny to ‘the angel who Fell, shadowed by the angel who hath Fallen’.”

“Well hell.”

Crowley spent longer than they expected to at Boffo’s, going on a grand tour when Eunice offered. When they sat down to finish their tea she asked, “So, what’s it take to get in on the Arrangement?”

Crowley did not choke on their tea, but it was a close thing. “They told you about that already?”

Eunice stared for a moment then broke out into loud cackling laughter. “Witches are second only to wizards when it comes to gossiping, and only because they’ll use magic to do it faster.”

“Er, needs us both together. We can stop by some time, just, eh make it so you won’t need to go out or think much afterwards.”

She cackled again, clearly having heard all about it already. “Close early on Sundays if you’re both free. Usually have séances but oddly don’t have one booked this week.”

“Hmm, yeah, odd.” She grinned and showed them back out to the front of the store. "We’ll see you on Sunday. Thank you for the tea, Eunice.”

“Night Crowley! See you then!”

Crowley tossed the toy car into the back and returned to the bookshop just as the last customer was being shooed out. “Hey angel.”

“Crowley, I was just going to call you. Impeccable timing as always,” Aziraphale said, busying themself with cleaning up the desk. “How was your afternoon?”

“Just Boffo,” smirked Crowley, flopping down on the couch.

Aziraphale frowned. “Boffo? Like the joke-”

“The ur-witch, Eunice, she helped Agnes set the curse on the Bentley.” Crowley smirked, watching Aziraphale fuss. “You knew.”

“Oh, er, well… Not exactly.” Aziraphale threw up their hands when Crowley arched an eyebrow. “I caught them.”

“ _Them._ ”

“Renewing the spell on the shop. I don’t think they saw me, but thinking about it, they probably planned it that way.” Aziraphale shrugged and sat down. “That’s how I found Boffo’s. And it was Eunice who introduced me to Nanny and Granny.”

“Yes, she mentioned it.” They watched Aziraphale for a long moment. “‘The angel who Fell, shadowed by the angel who hath Fallen.’” _Like those word choices don’t have a few telling connotations._

“Yes, that sounds like Agnes.”

“So how was your day?”

“Oh, I met a wizard.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley’s expression. “A slightly neurotic man by the name of Dr. Ponder Stibbons, works at an odd private university. Esk was his student and is still affiliated there.”

“Wot, the wizardy witch? I’m pretty sure she was Granny’s student at some point first.”

“That would explain a lot. Anyway, seems Esk let Ponder know I’m willing to talk shop, so to speak, with those of a magical nature. He’d like to meet with us in private, next week. They’re having a book fair-”

“Should’ve guessed,” Crowley mumbled with a sly teasing smile.

“Well, it’s a perfect cover,” said Aziraphale primly but their eyes were smiling back. “And he did imply that there might be others who are interested in coming to the Arrangement with us.”

“The more the merrier,” Crowley agreed. “Eunice wants in too. Do you know any of these wizards?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t actually. Ponder seems like a nice enough fellow.” Aziraphale made a face. “But I’ve been taken by nice before.”

“I think it’s best if I stick close to you for a while, until we know more about these wizards.” Crowley’s expression was set. “Both sides have no qualms about using human agents. We’ll see how they react to me.”

“Politely, if they know what’s good for them,” said Aziraphale sharply.

“Going to jump to my defense, angel?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale bluntly, smiling a little when Crowley blinked in surprise. “Shoulder to Shoulder. We are equals, are we not?”

The ceremonial phrase made Crowley’s heart jump. “Yeah, course.”

“Well then, fairs fair, after all.” Aziraphale beamed and Crowley had no resistance to that. “So, how would you feel about dinner?”

“I feel just fine about it, angel.”


	8. Frightful Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley does something foolish and impulsive and gives Aziraphale a bad time. Many feels and hugs are had and they begin to clear the air. They are still clueless.

Since discovering that Nanny Ogg’s mostly-apples holy water didn’t burn, there had been a growing fear in the back of Crowley’s mind, nebulous at first but they’d finally put words to it on the drive back to the flat after dinner on Thursday. _What if I can’t protect Aziraphale from hellfire anymore?_ The Bentley had mostly driven itself home as Crowley thought up and discarded plan after plan, almost saying something to Aziraphale but biting back the words when they saw the former angel was deeply lost in thought. _No need to worry them. Just need to be sure. What could go wrong?_

They spent most of the night with Aziraphale continuing their research and Crowley shuffled off to the bedroom not long before dawn with a promise to meet Aziraphale at the shop when they woke up. Aziraphale, distracted, just nodded and gave them a vague smile, and when they came to check in the morning Crowley feigned sleep until they left the flat. Stayed in bed until they could sense Aziraphale was safely ensconced in the shop then sprang into action.

There are infinite ways of getting into hell; getting in unnoticed is another matter.

Crowley didn’t let themself think too much about what they were doing, knowing that would only trip them up, give them time to feel the fear burning in their belly. On foot, shifted to blend into the area, Crowley headed for the nearest area not likely to be visited by anyone with unhealthy curiosity.

Which isn’t to say there aren’t plenty of hellish activity in close-knit neighborhoods, only that they’re far more nosy and Crowley didn’t want to attract attention.

It took three different tries to find one not being guarded, and it ended up being one of the ones that Crowley had erased the location of in hell’s files not long before becoming Warlock’s nanny. It had taken years of planning, of offending Dagon and Beelzebub just enough to be put on file duty without tipping their hand and getting into real trouble. Showing just the right mix of resentful acquiescence and fearful obedience when the order had come. Just enough neatness to not be too closely supervised while making it clear that they loathed every moment they were there. It had been a very productive and had kept them distracted from dwelling on the very dangerous plans they’d made with Aziraphale.

The dread portal to hell was a cracked drainpipe in an old stone wall, not too far from what had been a churchyard back in 1941. Crowley had opened it themself in desperation when they’d discovered at the last moment the ridiculous mess Aziraphale had gotten themself into.

Checking with all their senses to make sure they were unseen, Crowley paused time and shifted into snake form, tasting the air to make sure they weren’t slipping into a trap before letting time restart. It was cautious going, but the reek of brimstone showed the way through the maze of broken drains and forgotten utility tunnels, until they eventually crossed over into the plane commonly called hell, shifting into their serpent form as they did.

The hellish place Crowley had used as an anchor was mostly abandoned and half formed, inhabited by things the less powerful, ie “dinner” shaped demons preferred to avoid. A giant dark mottled red and purple-brown venomous serpent with glowing yellow eyes and crowned with a pair of spiky white horns fit right in with the other monsters. Crowley, had they paid attention, would not have recognized themself but all of their attention was on their surroundings, wary of anything and everything. They paused near the portal and tasted the air, again checking with all of their senses and finding nothing dangerous within range.

There was no discomfort, no itch, at being on that plane, which was a relief but also confusing. _So what am I? Can’t be an angel, apparently not a demon._ _Reformed demon? Retired fallen angel?_ Crowley began cautiously moving across the shifting landscape, closer to where the demons congregated. _Wonder if I could get into heaven to pay the bastards a little visit..._

After traveling for a little while Crowley realized that the area was unusually empty, with none of the usual hellish monsters roaming the area. They tasted the air again, risked spreading their senses even further but all they found was more emptiness. With a feeling of foreboding Crowley began moving faster towards the stability and relative safety of the inhabited areas.

A throbbing shudder passed through the abyssal firmament, causing a moment of disorientation and suddenly Crowley found themself in a cold monochrome desert that had a terrible familiarity to it. _What the heaven? Since when are rifts opening between the dungeon dimensions and hell?_ They started looking around for a way back but froze when something screeched far overhead.

It was a massive Thing, far bigger than anything they’d seen back in Eden, with massive tattered wings like oily rags and it began to dive, tentacles and talons reaching out hungrily for Crowley. They had a moment of fear and regret and coiled up to strike, afraid it would be too little too late. No way of knowing if whatever had allowed them to destroy the Things in Eden would even still work after all that had happened, let alone if it would have ever worked on one in their own dimension.

Unexpectedly Aziraphale’s golden-bronze power bloomed over Crowley’s scales and the former demon was startled to see an illusion of a massive horned serpent leap forward twenty feet or so and slither hurriedly away from where the real Crowley still lay coiled. They remembered using the same ruse in the Garden and when the giant Thing fell on the apparition Crowley struck twice in rapid succession and froze, letting Aziraphale’s illusion hide them again.

The creature screeched in pain and anger and desperately tried to fly away as Crowley’s venom began to work on it, disintegrating into nothingness before it got more than a wings-breadth into the air. However, there were more screams in the distance, quickly getting closer.

Crowley, confused and jittery with fear and adrenaline took advantage of the momentary reprieve and quickly looked around, spotting a slowly closing rift and bolting towards it. They slipped through just in time, swearing inwardly when they found themself much nearer the inhabited parts of hell than they wanted to be.

After a moment they noticed a pair of lesser demons watching the rift from behind a pile of rotting detritus. Crowley lunged at them, flashing their fangs and when they bolted, Crowley took off in the opposite direction.They sent out their senses again and aimed for the nearest pool of hellfire, which had been the actual goal of their foray into hell, daring to pull on their power to awe-step (slither) to put distance between themself and the fleeing demons.

They didn’t have to go particularly far to find it, and Crowley didn’t let themself hesitate. They immersed themself in themindless rage,their whole massive serpentine body quickly engulfed in flames. Instantly Crowley realized that it didn’thurt, though there was a feeling of heavy pressure trying to push them away, like two magnets set wrong way around. Hellfire had always been almost unbearable - that was the point after all, that even the demons suffered from it, not that they showed it if they could bear it. It was now, as Aziraphale had put it, barely a tickle.

It wasn’t what Crowley expected, not that they had been sure what to expect, but it was a result and something to think about when not in the middle of enemy territory. They retreated and made their way stealthily back out using another of the erased portals. Once back in human seeming they went the long way around to the flat to make sure there were no followers or watchers.

Only a couple of hours had passed by the time Crowley slipped around Aziraphale’s still active trap. Still feeling jittery from the adrenaline, it was a relief to fling themself onto the couch and wrap themself in the black and red tartan blanket that they would never in a million years admit was growing on them. _What the heaven happened? That was Aziraphale’s magic that saved me. But how? Was it something passive? It couldn’t’ve been active, not with Aziraphale up here in the shop, no way for the magic to reach so far… is there?_ They sank into thought and from there into a doze as the adrenaline wore off.

**∞**

_Earlier…_

“Thank you and have a lovely day!” The door was just closing behind the only customer so far that morning when Aziraphale was suddenly overcome with the knowledge that Crowley was in danger. With shaking hands they locked the door and tried to find the former demon through the bond but the feeling was too distant and vague for Aziraphale to pinpoint to awe-step to. Desperate, they pulled Nanny Ashtoreth’s small black compass from their pocket, expecting only to get a slightly better pinpointing of Crowley’s location.

Aziraphale rubbed their left thumb over the raised ouroboros/infinity decoration on the cover and whispered the words to activate the spell before opening the case. Inside the lid was a mirror and when Aziraphale looked into it they received a mental vision of Crowley slipping through the darkness in their snake form, approaching an opening in the fabric of reality that led into the abyssal planes. “Crowley!” No response. :Crowley! Stop! What the hell are you doing?!: Aziraphale called, but the bond was still too weak after the neglect of two millennia for Crowley to hear.

Then Crowley crossed into the abyssal plane, and Aziraphale expected to lose sight of them but after a moment of haziness there was hardly any interference at all. _That’s unexpected. It must be the bond..._ The sense of danger was pervasive and Aziraphale could only be grateful that Crowley had sense enough to stay away from the more inhabited areas, though apparently not enough sense to stay out of hell completely.

The sense of danger continued to grow and Aziraphale was racking their mind trying to think of something, anything they could do that would help, but help against what? So far there wasn’t any obvious threat. And how? They were in a completely different plane! Suddenly the vision of Crowley shifted and a jolt of terror went through Aziraphale when they heard a monstrous flying Thing roaring. The former angel hastily cast a spell through the mirror from sheer instinct, though they had no idea if it would actually work, or if they were strong enough to send their power so far elsewhere.

A wave of relief swept through Aziraphale when the spell flared into being and the illusionary Crowley was attacked instead of the real one. They collapsed with relief onto the couch when Crowley’s venom destroyed the massive Thing, worried when the sense of danger lessened but didn’t abate entirely when Crowley escaped back into hell. _Not exactly a surprise I suppose, it’s not as though hell is safe in any sense of the word._

Their words proved true when Aziraphale realized their illusion hadn’t survived the transition from the dungeon dimensions back into hell and Crowley was spotted by some Legions. Before the former angel could act Crowley scared them off and bolted, Aziraphale assumed, for the nearest exit.

_Oh good lord, Crowley what are you doing?!_

Aziraphale thought but didn’t say aloud some very angry and relieved things as the serpent slithered unharmed from the flames. They shoved themself up from the couch to anxiously pace the bookshop as they watched Crowley finally make their escape. They waited until Crowley was safely back in the flat before snapping the compass closed and slipping it into their pocket.

Unable to sit still, the former angel let themself out of the shop and started walking in a direction at random. Their mind was a quagmire of anger and hurt and worry but eventually, after thinking things over they came to a grudging understanding of Crowley’s likely motivations. _Clearly Crowley wanted to know if they were still immune to hellfire. Which is logical, especially after the past few days. We will be very vulnerable if we’ve lost our personal immunities to our former allies’ weapons of choice. And while I know that Nanny Ogg’s concoction was holy, it wasn’t really the same as regular holy water. And also, I should know if I can still walk on holy ground, after… everything, perhaps not anymore._ The rationalization of the ex-demon’s actions dulled the edge of their upset only slightly.

The sidewalks were full of people so Aziraphale slipped unnoticed into an alleyway before they hid themself with a spell and stopped to send their senses outward. They quickly found the closest bit of sanctified ground, a church situated inside a lovingly maintained brick building, nestled amid a thriving neighborhood.

Aziraphale paused in front of the bright red door, taking a deep breath and taking stock of their senses. Being on holy ground usually felt like sitting in the sun after a cold winter, gently filling them with warmth and energy. They could sense that the ground inside was sanctified, so they squared their shoulders and stepped inside.

It felt neutral and that had Aziraphale at a loss. “I don’t understand,” they murmured. “Am I fallen or not?” They frowned down at the stone, walking farther into the church, looking around in puzzlement.

“Maybe holy water...” A quick look around provided a tiny holy font near the door and with caution Aziraphale dipped their left pinky into the holy water, garnering another puzzled frown from the ex-angel. If holy ground had been soft suffusion, then touching holy water was like being plugged into an electrical socket (they assumed). But this holy water was even less responsive, beading off of their skin like water off a duck’s back. They could sense the holiness as a distant benediction, but it was otherwise, unexpectedly, inert.

The former angel left the church deep in thought, wandering from one place of worship to another and finding the same result no matter where they went. Periodically they would check the bond, just to make sure Crowley wasn’t off doing something else- It took a few hours for them to feel calm enough to face Crowley.

Aziraphale hesitantly unlocked the door and stepped over the trap, quietly closing and locking the door again. “Hello?” They stood just inside the door for a long moment before calling out again, “Hello?”

Crowley jerked awake and fell off the couch, swearing under their breath when they heard Aziraphale’s uncertain greeting. They stumbled through the door with a mumbled, “Hey.” When they saw Aziraphale’s expression they stopped dead in their tracks. “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley.” All the remembered fear and anger rushed back upon seeing them and their icy blue eyes pinned Crowley to their spot. They took a deep breath and made themself ask, “Have a good morning?”

Crowley could have sworn the former angel’s breath misted in the air at the frostiness of their tone. “Oh... er, it was alright.” They swiveled to watch Aziraphale stalk towards the kitchen, following in their wake with a sense of morbid fascination. _I’ve never seen them this way before. Maybe, maybe they know… Oh fuck, this isn’t going to end well._ The words slipped out without thought, “How was yours?”

“Nice,” Aziraphale hissed, pulling out a glass and summoning up a bottle and pouring themself a hefty drink. “Nice, boring morning.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a mockery of a smile and tossed back the drink, pouring themself another one. “Sold some books, ordered some books. The usual.”

“Oh, er, that’s good, right?” Crowley cautiously moved to the other side of the counter, a little surprised that there wasn’t frost forming on the marble. “So... You’re, uh, you’re kinda scaring me, angel.”

The glass cracked against the counter like a shot and Aziraphale’s eyes blazed as the cold niceness evaporated into searing anger. “Am I? Good! Good, because you fucking terrified me today! You bastard!” And then the anger was gone, leaving just the memory of helpless terror and Aziraphale pressed their hands over their eyes as tears welled and fell. “You bloody bastard.”

Crowley stood stunned for a moment then came around the counter, reaching out to put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder but pulling away before they touched. “Angel-”

“I had a, a I don’t know what, that you were in danger!” Aziraphale dropped their hands to pierce Crowley with another hard stare. “I cast that spell from my shop and I didn’t even know if it would work!”

“Fuck, angel, I’m sorry,” said Crowley, their stomach dropping with the realization of what they had put them through. Crowley reached out again but let their hand fall. “I didn’t realize you could sense that.”

“Neither did I.” Aziraphale turned away to pace but then turned back. “You, you ass! You could have been discorporated or killed and I never would have known what happened to you! Just gone again, without word or warning or...” Their words dissolved into a sob and they caught Crowley in a tight hug.

“I didn’t think, didn’t know, shit.” Crowley stroked a shaking hand over Aziraphale’s back, murmuring apologies. “I’m so sorry. You saved me, angel. I was, I had to be sure I could still protect you from hellfire, I didn’t think anything like that would happen. Didn’t know it could happen. If you hadn’t... all I could think was,” _I’d never see you again._ Words and feelings clogged their throat for a moment and they swallowed hard before continuing. “But you saved me, angel, I’m so sorry.”

“I couldn’t find you, I couldn’t get to you,” Aziraphale said harshly, shrugging out of the embrace as anger returned. “How dare you? How dare you risk yourself so foolishly!”

Crowley was pale with fear. “You’re right, I shouldn’t’ve-”

“You always do this to me.” Aziraphale poured themself another drink, staring at the bottle as more words poured out. “You show up when I need you but when you might need help you just vanish on me. It’s supposed to go both ways Crowley. Do you trust me so little? Clearly, or you would have told me.”

“Aziraphale...” They watched the former angel gulp down another drink, heart plummeting when they turned towards the door, reaching out but not touching. “Don’t. Don’t go-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aziraphale growled but they pulled up short when they actually looked at Crowley, seeing the dread in their eyes, the outstretched hand that trembled. “My wings to yours. Always.”

Crowley’s breath hitched at the word. “Always.” They inched closer, letting out a shuddering breath when Aziraphale caught them in another tight hug. “Forgive me,” Crowley whispered brokenly.

“Of course,” Aziraphale murmured, more tears welling when Crowley hugged them back. “I was so scared and then you, you went right into the hellfire, like a holiday swim! Head first!”

“Nothing in there to hurt,” Crowley said self-deprecatingly, pressing their face against Aziraphale’s shoulder when they huffed out a reluctant laugh. “I promise, I didn’t think anything would happen. I’ve never heard of rifts opening in hell before.”

“It’s still hell!” Aziraphale squawked, giving them a little shake. “Demons and monsters and, and they want you dead!” The former angel pulled back, trying to read Crowley’s expression.

Crowley reluctantly let them go. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, clearly,” Aziraphale snapped. “Why do you do that? Do you really think I wouldn’t help you?”

“I was trying to protect you. Keep you from worrying.”

“I don’t need protection, I need...” _You_. Aziraphale turned away to pour another drink, swallowing it and the confession down. It was clear that whatever they had sensed, whatever the former demon might have felt in that long ago church, it had been thoroughly destroyed by Aziraphale’s betrayal. Friendship was more than they deserved, after what they’d done to Crowley. “ _Shoulder to shoulder_. I want you to treat me as an equal, not as, as a duty, as a burden to be dealt with then set aside.”

That was a knife to the heart. “No, angel you weren’t, aren’t, I didn’t, don’t feel that way about you. But I couldn’t risk you more than I already was.”

Aziraphale’s fingers twisted together, seeking the golden ring that had been their worry stone for so long, balling them into a fist at the reminder that there was no going back. And the old hurts bubbled up and erupted. “ _Always_ felt like a miracle or a cruel joke, depending on what century it was. It didn’t, I couldn’t stop you when you’ve wanted to walk away. I never understood why you kept up the pretense as long as you have.”

Crowley put their hand over Aziraphale’s, drowning in their tear-filled eyes when they looked up and the words just spilled out. “You mean everything to me, Aziraphale, _everything_.”

Aziraphale shook their head in disbelief. “Then why? How could you just,” _leave me,_ “...disappear, like that? We were… and then nothing until 1862. Where were you, that I couldn’t sense you?”

“I thought… I almost got us caught, angel.”

“...you what?”

Crowley smirked ruefully at Aziraphale’s stunned expression and at their own folly. The former demon gently urged them to sit on the couch, pacing the room as they explained. “After we pulled off that ridiculous thing with Napoleon-”

“Oh, what a mistake that turned out to be,” murmured Aziraphale. “You vanished not long afterwards.”

“Yeah. Had to do up a report about it. Eh, I figured, no one looks at these stupid things. Didn’t seem worth the effort of getting sober for. So I wrote it all out and signed it A squiggly-do-thingy C.” They gave Aziraphale a sheepish look. “Seemed funny at the time.”

“Squiggly-do... you mean an _ampersand_?” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “Crowley!”

“I know, I know! I’m a bloody idiot. So imagine how I felt when Dagon calls me in for a little chat later on, tells me they’ve got big plans for that guy so they’re very curious who A and J are, if I’d recruited other demons to help.” Crowley could almost taste the fear again at the memory. “I told them it just was my earthly name. I’d been using Anthony as an alias for a while by then, slap a J on, I though, yeah, that’ll cover it, all clear. Then Dagon asks why I kept mentioning an angel.”

Aziraphale gasped. “You didn’t!”

Crowley put their hands up helplessly. “Apparently I did. I was like, ooh, old adversary, put there to thwart me, but I tricked ‘em I did, don’t even know the half of it. Spun a whole tale about, you know, keeping an eye on you so I’d know who to target for tempting and such. They told me to kill you.” Crowley tried to shake off the feeling of horror that memory brought with it. “And I said, ‘Sure thing!’ and buggered off to the edge of hell for a nice long nap in snake form where I knew they couldn’t find me.” They flopped down onto the couch. “I’m good at hiding myself, but I can’t pick and choose who can sense me, it’s all or nothing.” They turned towards Aziraphale. “I couldn’t risk contacting you until it had blown over.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale slid a reassuring hand into Crowley’s. “They weren’t talking about just discorporating me, were they?”

“Nope. Had a requisition in for a vessel of hellfire and everything. They had _hopes_ for him, you see, and the wars he’d bring, couldn’t let heaven intrude on that too much. They thought maybe it would even spark off Armageddon, but they think that about every war. Woke up for a bit at one point but everything was still in a tizzy so just went back to sleep, seemed safer. By the time I woke up again, Napoleon and all that was long done, but I knew…” Crowley looked down at their hands and stroked their thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “I knew one day I’d have to pick a side, angel, and I knew it wouldn’t be theirs.”

Aziraphale felt like their heart was breaking. “But then I said no and stormed off.”

“I thought I’d get you around to my way of thinking eventually, but you wouldn’t bloody listen, would you? You always could make me furious, so, yeah. I never really left, even though you couldn’t sense me, I could sense you, I always knew if you were in real danger.”

“Did, is that what I felt today? Oh, dear, did I, did I set that off very often?” Aziraphale asked contritely, recalling how many times Crowley had shown up to rescue them.

“Not often. Worst was the church,” Crowley chuckled humorlessly and shook their head. “That would have been real bad for you.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale refused to think about that night, it was too painful, remembering how badly they had misread the situation. More recently were the terrible memories of how badly they had treated their one true friend. “After everything I said and did, you still gave me another chance.”

“Best friend, remember,” Crowley said with a broken smile. “Until I couldn’t... you were just gone and it didn’t matter anymore.” The former demon closed their eyes with a shuddering breath, holding on tightly when Aziraphale pulled them into another hug. Confessed around the lump in their throat, “I never meant it. I wasn’t really going to leave.”

“I didn’t mean it either,” Aziraphale whispered, undone by the former demon’s pain and grief. “I just, I wanted to prove you wrong, but then the evidence was right there in front of me and I couldn’t pretend anymore,” Aziraphale confessed. “I’d called you to tell you everything that I had discovered. And to, to apologize, but then...”

“What changed your mind?”

“When I tried to reach... I ended up talking with the Metatron and they wouldn’t, they weren’t interested in what I had to say about stopping the war. But then that buffoon, Shadwell, came in yelling about demons and backed me right into the circle, and before I knew it I was discorporated and you know, I think the Metatron meant to discorporate me on purpose? It hurt rather a lot and then I was being yelled into the rank and file. They called me a horrible excuse for an angel. And I said, you’re right. And I told them I wouldn’t fight in their war and I sent myself back before they could try to stop me.”

Crowley pulled themself up, wiping at their damp face, shaking their head a little at the tears they hadn’t shed in millennia. “I always knew you were brave, angel, but damn. You told the heavenly host to sod off and tried to face down himself with just a confused kid, a flaming sword and a disgraced demon, all in the span of a single day.”

“When you put it that way...” Aziraphale chuckled through their tears and offered Crowley a pale tartan handkerchief, garnering a fondly exasperated smile from the former demon, who glared at it until it turned black out of embarrassment. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I _wouldn’t_ have done it without you.” They leaned forward and murmured, “You’re everything to me too. Have been from the start.” Aziraphale smiled a little self-deprecatingly. “I couldn’t fathom what you could possibly see in being my friend.”

Crowley stared down at the handkerchief. “I saw the one being who I knew I could count on.”

Aziraphale cringed. “I didn’t uphold my promise, to always be there for you.”

Crowley shook their head. “You came through, in the end. I was just scared out of my mind and didn’t see a way out. It felt like the fall all over again…” _And this time I’d dragged you down with me._

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s hands wrung together with guilt. “And there I was, telling you I trusted the ones who had turned on you more than I trusted you. No wonder you were so infuriated with me. I… I certainly owe you for that.” They were rewarded with a small smile and an awkward silence.

Eventually Aziraphale broke the silence. “So... you went to test hellfire...”

“Yeah. It, uh, didn’t hurt or itch or anything to be back there-” Crowley had to smile when Aziraphale summoned one of their notebooks and began taking notes.

“Did it used to hurt?”

“Just the hellfire,” Crowley shrugged, watching Aziraphale’s pen scratch across the paper. “There’s a reason the main areas don’t have any hellfire. Usually it, uh, well it’ll grab you, have to give it a wide berth. It didn’t this time, didn’t hurt either.”

“Holy ground and holy water don’t feel the way they used to either,” Aziraphale murmured, looking up when Crowley twitched.

“How do you know?” Crowley demanded.

“Because I went to holy ground.”

Inarticulate noises spluttered from Crowley for a moment. “What?!”

“I went to churches,” the ex-angel said. “Synagogues, mosques, temples, anywhere else I could sense sanctified ground. Over a dozen of them.”

“When?”

“Before I came back here. When I realized why you’d... I knew I should check as well.” They looked up from their notes when the former demon growled. “I was just following your example, Crowley.”

Crowley threw up their hands. “That’s, but, just- it’s different, angel!”

“Yes. _You_ returned to an abyssal plane where you’re wanted _dead_ for treason, to fling yourself headlong into _hellfire_ ,” said Aziraphale with a hint of ice over hurt. “I had a _walk_. Dipped my pinky in a bit of water.”

Crowley deflated. “Er, when you put it like that...”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale gave them a sidelong look before returning to their notes. “I think this confirms that we are well and truly outside of their influence now. Upon further consideration I believe that what happened to us on Tuesday was not something sent but a, a passive reaction, to our actions.”

“To switching you mean?” Aziraphale nodded and Crowley considered what it might mean. “Wait, so, you think they don’t know that we’re… different? More different I mean? Changed?”

“Correct.” Aziraphale closed the book and sent it back to the desk with a flick of their fingers. “I can’t imagine them trying to assassinate us in secret. No, they would want witnesses to confirm our destruction.”

“The bastards do love to gloat,” Crowley agreed, vividly remembering the archangels’ expressions as they’d told Aziraphale to step into the hellfire. “That… could prove useful.”

That wicked glint sparked to life in the serpent’s eyes and Aziraphale smothered a smile. “Oh dear.”

“I’ve got an idea.”

“I’d be shocked if you didn’t.”


	9. Friday Fight Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an ambush! But who exactly is ambushing who?

It was close to sunset when they finally emerged from the flat and to the casual observer there would seem to be no difference in how they acted before the world didn’t end and after. But the casual observer would not know that until that moment, Crowley had spent almost every moment in Aziraphale’s company insuring that there couldn’t _be_ casual observers. You had to know what and who you were looking for, had to know and counter Crowley and Aziraphale’s magical precautions.

As often as they spent time together after the fall, it was probably a miracle that Crowley’s vigilance had slipped so infrequently. Or perhaps the miracle was that heaven and hell hadn’t discovered them before they could stop Armageddon. Or, most likely, someone, or _someones_ , had been helping all along.

* * *

They returned to the shop and set to work examining the anti-spying spell, primarily to see if they could replicate it over Crowley’s flat. The problem was actually being able to find it.

“Well, it must be extremely well made, if _we_ are having this hard of a time,” sighed Aziraphale.

“How do we know they weren’t just lying?” Crowley slouched against the wall, watching as Aziraphale began to pace the sidewalk on the east side of the shop, the people flowing around them with hardly a glance

The reformed angel closed their eyes, trying to remember where exactly they’d seen the witches renewing the spell. “Because it was put here before… well, before you bought the building for me. It was the main reason I wanted this building even though it was outside the approved budget.” Aziraphale opened their eyes to give the serpent a bright smile.

“It was nothing,” Crowley lied, shoving their hands in their too tiny pockets to keep from rubbing the ache over their heart that seeing their angel smile like that caused. “‘Swot friends do.”

Aziraphale was caught by surprise when they sensed falsehood, quickly turning away before Crowley could notice. Their thoughts were completely derailed for a moment to realize Crowley had never actually lied to them before, or not so directly that they could sense it. They’d always assumed Crowley could hide when they lied, the same way Aziraphale could. They cleared their throat and said lightly, and honestly, “Well, it meant a great deal to me, my dear. A very grand and endearing gesture.”

“I, uh, oh, well,” spluttered Crowley. “Glad you liked it.”

Aziraphale was about to say more but one of the spell anchors finally pinged on their senses. “Ah ha! Ooh, they were clever. The anchors aren’t on the building at all, they’re in the sidewalk. Probably had to move them when the roads were paved. Come look at this, it’s really quite ingenious.” When Crowley moved closer Aziraphale gently pinged the anchor again, sending just a barely discernible flare of energy through the webwork of magic that they could both sense.

Crowley was impressed to realize the spell didn’t just block spying, it actively manipulated the perception of things near the web. “It camouflages us, makes us seem different.”

“No, not us... you.” Aziraphale was staring sightlessly into the astral plane, manipulating the spell with featherlight touches, discovering the intricacies of the spell. “It’s attuned to shield the shop and the surrounding areas from spying, yes, but it also actively hides you.” Aziraphale frowned as they considered, recalling the man who’d commented after what the reformed angel had come to mentally refer to as ‘the disagreement’. “But you were heard, and seen, on Saturday.”

“Wot? But, oh. I wasn’t, I didn’t do the thing, the making people look away thing. Didn’t seem to matter by then.” Crowley darted a look at Aziraphale, but the reformed angel was still seemingly enthralled by the spell. “Is that what got you in trouble?”

“So the spell somehow reacts to you using your powers and meshes with them,” Aziraphale was mumbling to themself. After a moment Crowley’s question penetrated and they blinked a few times and turned to look at them. “What? No! They had already accused me of being a traitor before you arrived.”

“What? What happened?”

“Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon cornered me, right on the street, and assaulted me. Archangels! Attacking other angels! I was just flabbergasted.”

“They _attacked_ you?” It was a growl.

“Like a gang of schoolyard bullies,” sniffed Aziraphale, belatedly realizing that that probably wasn’t the best thing to be telling the impulsive serpent. “They knew you were in trouble too,” Aziraphale recalled. “More proof that you were right, about _them_ having an arrangement all along. Two cliques of schoolyard bullies spoiling for a fight.” They sniffed and returned to talking about the spell. “How would the witches have attuned it to your magic do you suppose? I don’t recall you ever making a pact with anyone let alone real witches but I assume you wouldn’t have mentioned it to me anyway-”

“Pacts weren’t my thing,” said Crowley. “Too fiddly. More of a, ‘Eh, look at this thing you want to do anyway, why not do it and see what happens?’ kind of tempter really. Most of the time they’d already done it by the time I got there.” Crowley squinted at the foundation of the building, trying to remember how it had looked back when they’d bought it and memory had them looking for a specific mark- “This.”

In one of the foundation stones was a small incursion of shiny black material, barely visible beneath layers of grime. Aziraphale touched it, eyes going wide. “The obsidian blade?”

“A piece of it anyway. One at each cardinal point. Some of your lessons stuck,” said Crowley with a crooked smile, looking away when Aziraphale’s eyes went soft.

“Crowley...”

“Protecting my investment,” the former demon shrugged, shifting so their shoulders touched for a moment. “And my friend. You helped with the flat.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale rubbed their hands together and gestured for Crowley to precede them back into the shop. “Well, I think we can replicate this spell over your flat with a bit of preparation. Missed Solstice so we’ll have to wait for Equinox, but that should give us plenty of time to set the anchors. I’ll have to discuss it with Eunice of course, but I imagine she’ll be amenable. How exciting, we haven’t been part of a big working in ages.”

Crowley smiled at Aziraphale’s excitement. “What sort of things are we going to need?”

Aziraphale sat at the desk and after a bit of scrabbling for a pad that wasn’t filled with other research, began writing up a list. “Some of this we might need to get from Granny or Nanny, but others we can find ourselves. In fact, we could try to gather some tonight if you’re up for it.”

“Sure, ‘snot like I’m busy.”

* * *

It was not a great night for traipsing about in a nature preserve, the sky growing steadily darker with an incoming storm, but as they needed a swan’s feather, a black adder skin, fallen branches from a bunch of different trees, and wood from a lightning struck tree of any sort, there were only a few places to find most everything in close proximity, with a chance of the last if the weather continued to worsen.

They decided to split up in hopes of beating the storm, with Aziraphale pursuing the swan’s feather while Crowley went in search of a black adder to ask for a recent molt, both keeping an eye out for good fallen twigs for the ritual wands.

Aziraphale had just found a usable feather near where a few swans were paddling quietly on the water when a dozen Legionnaires led by Uriel appeared around them. They didn’t have to feign their surprise or the jolt of fear they felt as their hands were again bound with blessed cord. “Oh, no, please-”

“Quiet traitor! Hurry, before the demon gets restless and trie something without us,” Uriel ordered, striding away with the Legionnaires shuffling Aziraphale along in the archangel’s wake.

Awaiting them nearby was a dozen Legion, led by a Duke Igmuth who had recently been promoted after the loss of Ligur. Igmuth was very eager to prove themself, and Uriel was right to be concerned because Crowley was on the ground, Igmuth’s boot pressed to the back of their neck.

“Crowley!”

“Hey, angel. Ow.”

“Lord Igmuth,” said Uriel coolly, glaring at one of the Legionnaires and gesturing for them to silence Aziraphale. “Are you prepared for the exchange?”

“I dunno,” grumbled the demon, glaring down at Crowley. “Why’s it got to be so fast? This one deserves a little time in the pits before they’re destroyed.”

“Because the last time we wasted time, they tricked us and escaped their rightful sentences. I do understand you’re new, but I was assured Lord Beelzebub had briefed you on this.”

“Oh. Yeah.” One of the Legion leaned close and whispered in their ear for a rather long time. Duke Igmuth stepped off of Crowley and growled some more and admitted, “First time topside. Shoulda read the whole manual about gravity I guess.”

Uriel made a dismissive noise and waved for Aziraphale to be brought forward. “It does take getting used to,” Uriel agreed. “We will test them now, if you’re ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Igmuth, waving at the Legion that was carrying a large black urn that shimmered with heat. They set it down and lifted the lid, exposing what looked like a puddle of smoldering lava, blackened but breaking with sullen red heat as it moved of its own volition. Crowley was yanked upright and dragged towards the vessel, their hand plunged into the seething liquid, which roared up into towering flames at the contact, splashing over the side of the vessel and searing the ground.

Crowley grimaced and snatched their hand away, cradling it against their chest while Igmuth laughed, “Got it special just for you, straight from the source. No pretending it doesn’t hurt with this stuff.”

Crowley didn’t dare look at Aziraphale, who was standing far too still for their piece of mind. :It didn’t hurt. Don’t blow it angel.: Crowley wasn’t sure Aziraphale could hear them but they continued to play their part. “Well, I feel real special. You’re welcome for the promotion, Igmuth, I know how hardly you worked for it.”

“Shut it,” Igmuth snapped, leering towards Aziraphale. “Got it special for your _friend_. We’re going to make you watch the angel die before the prisses give you a bath. So let’s get on with it.”

Uriel sighed and waved to one of the Legionnaires, who had a glass decanter filled with crystal clear water and tipped it over Aziraphale’s bound hands. Aziraphale didn’t react, eyes glued to Igmuth. “I blessed the water myself,” Uriel assured them.

“We’ll see if you did,” growled Igmuth.

Both sides stared at each other for a long moment before one of the Legion shoved Crowley towards the waiting Legionnaires and they did the same to Aziraphale and Crowley glared at the archangel as fiercely as Aziraphale was glaring at the duke of hell.

“ _Hunting Season_ ,” whispered Crowley when they were abreast of one another, hand still tightly cradled against their chest. Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled as they gave Crowley a tiny frown and continued walking.

“Finally,” Igmuth growled, grabbing Aziraphale by the back of their coat and shoving them down to their knees. “We should bring you back to hell, let you really suffer.” Igmuth took the vessel from the waiting Legion and swirled it so that flames and embers spurted and seethed. “Maybe we should start at the toes and work our way up,” they taunted, grinning at the watching archangel and at Crowley. “It will be a pleasure to watch you die.”

“You first,” said Aziraphale, and suddenly there were a dozen Aziraphales and Crowleys bolting in every direction, and more Crowleys and Aziraphales standing where Legionnaires and Legions had been. They turned on one another and themselves and it quickly became clear the two sides were evenly matched.

“Say hello to my little friend!” cackled one of the Crowleys, as an Aziraphale wrested the holy water from the Legionnaire who had been carrying it.

“I knew you would betray us!” Uriel accused, lifting the vessel of holy water.

Igmuth saw Aziraphale throwing the holy water and threw the hellfire in response.

If holy water meeting the flesh of a demon was equivalent to a bit of sodium in water, then holy water being directly applied to hellfire was of a magnitude closer to a volcanic eruption. There was an explosion of superheated steam that blew those closest away and those farther out arse over teakettle, as well as peppering the area with a very unpleasant spray of razor sharp shrapnel from the molten hellfire being turned into shards of obsidian.

When the smoke cleared only a handful of Legionnaires and Legions had escaped being discorporated and they milled about aimlessly before being called back to the celestial plane.

Crowley and Aziraphale had effectively made the two sides blow themselves up. It was a highly impractical idea but it should be noted that Crowley had always enjoyed watching classic cartoons. It had been an educational afternoon for the angel.

Far above it all, perched at the top of a tree safely outside the blast radius, was a huge eagle-owl whose head turned this way and that to ensure the last of the stragglers were gone. Coiled around their neck, snuggled in among the feathers, was a black adder.

“Sense anyone?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley tasted the air and sent their senses outward. “All clear.”

Aziraphale dropped from the tree, gliding down to the crater and landing on the edge, letting Crowley slither off before transforming back into their human seeming. “You are okay, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked when Crowley had also shifted back.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yes. I heard you,” Aziraphale said with a faint smile, casting a spell to make the obsidian reveal itself to their sight. “It was a close thing, I must admit.”

“Same,” agreed Crowley, looking down at the blackened ground. They toed the dirt, carefully picking up a piece of the obsidian. “Looks a lot like what we’d found in Eden.”

They handed the piece to Aziraphale, who examined it magically and nodded. “Feels identical. This should work very well for our needs, and we will have more than enough to use for your flat and any other places we might wish to protect in the same fashion.”

Crowley grinned and picked up another piece of obsidian. “Think they’ll be teaming up again?”

Aziraphale hummed as they also began carefully setting the glassy fragments into a satchel they summoned out of the air. “Oh, I doubt it. You heard Uriel. No, I don’t think they will be quite so trusting of the opposition for the foreseeable future anyway. They will have to return to hunting on their own.”

Crowley laughed. “I told you it would work.”

“I admit that I had my doubts, but you were right. Do you think they will fall for it again though?”

“Oh, of that I’ve no doubt,” Crowley grinned. “It’s not like they’re going to tell the rest of their lot what really happened, are they? Igmuth sure isn’t, though I doubt they’ll still have the title of duke by the time they finish filling out the paperwork. No, they’ll say the other side had a booby trap and that it was a double cross and they might even believe it.”

“They might blame us,” said Aziraphale quietly, looking over at Crowley.

Crowley shrugged, tossing one of the pieces of obsidian into the air and letting it hover over their hand. It began to crackle with energy, giving off a faint auroral corona as it gently turned. “Let them come, angel. We’ve got more tricks up our sleeves.”

“You don’t even know sleight of hand,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a sly smile when they frowned and snatched the shard out of the air.

“Well I’ve got sleeves, haven’t I? As I’m inside my sleeves and I’m full of actual magic-” They made a disgusted noise when Aziraphale chuckled. “Just for that, I’m not giving you my desert. Ha, so there.”

Aziraphale pouted. “That is a dirty trick. Very wily of you.”

“Ah, ooh...” Crowley wagged a finger at Aziraphale, who was failing to hide their smile. “C’mon angel, let’s get out of here. Going to start raining at any moment.”

“Just one last thing to see to.” Aziraphale waved their hands and the crater filled itself back in and the grass grew back as though nothing had ever happened. “Just missing the-” There was a crack and a small sapling was hit by a jolt of lightning that didn’t actually come from the sky. “Secrets and storms,” Aziraphale murmured, watching Crowley carefully pluck a few singed branches from the lightning struck tree.

“What was that?” Crowley asked, offering them the branches.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale answered, giving them a fond smile as they accepted and slid the branches into the satchel. “I do think that’s everything, if you wouldn’t mind leading the way. Gotten a bit dark for me.”

“Oh, well, only one solution for that,” said Crowley, wiping their hand against their jacket before offering it to them. “I’ll keep you safe, angel.”

Aziraphale slipped their hand into Crowley’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You always have.”

“Always will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You totally know Crowley watches Looney Tunes and that Bugs Bunny is a role model. The bomb falling on the church? Made a cartoony slidewhistle noise when it landed.


	10. Taking the L-(space) (Saturday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You do not mess with Aziraphale's bookshop. You would think the Librarian and Rincewind would understand that sentiment...

When they arrived at the bookshop Saturday morning, Aziraphale was barely in the door when the phone started ringing and they hurried to answer before the caller could hang up. Crowley lingered by the door and finally flipped the sign to open before following Aziraphale into the shop.

“Oh, yes, I do see that your order was due in this week but- hmm, yes well, I will let you know the moment it comes in. Yes, goodbye.” Aziraphale let out a sigh and gave Crowley a smile as they sprawled onto the couch. “Seems I’ve mislaid Miss Tick’s book order.”

Crowley laughed. “ _Miss Tick_? Like Mystic? Another witch?”

Aziraphale shrugged and began to dig around their desk. “Haven’t actually met her but seems likely at this point.” They darted a look at Crowley and asked lightly, “Would you set the sign to open before you go? I know you’ve got things to do...”

Crowley looked over the top of their glasses at the fidgeting former angel and smiled just a little. “Set it when we came it. Thought I’d stick around for a while, no rush to get anywhere.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale paused looking for the books to smile back. “I’m always glad of your company, and we do need to discuss how you set your spell to ensure we can replicate it properly… But first, Miss Tick’s books.”

Crowley watched them search for a while, saving one of the precarious stacks from tipping with a snap of their fingers and earning another grateful smile. “Er, angel, you, uh, you prob’ly shouldn’t leave your research out like this,” the former demon said, pretending to be nonchalant. “Lots of room at the flat if you want to bring it all there. Keep things more organized that way.”

Aziraphale hummed distractedly, their head snapping up when Crowley’s words finally penetrated. “Oh, but, you, it’s your place, Crowley, I know how my clutter gets on your nerves,” they said with a dismissive laugh. “Do you mind keeping an eye on things while I look in the back?”

Crowley swallowed their rebuttal and waved a hand. “Yeah, sure.” They let out a small sigh when Aziraphale was out of earshot and resolved to keep asking until either Aziraphale realized the former demon wanted them to, to what exactly? Move in? Live together? Right now it felt like Aziraphale was just having an extended visit, and Crowley wanted… permanence. Wanted it to be ‘our flat’ instead of ‘your flat’. So Crowley decided to start small; have them bring over all the research, and then books, then more books, and eventually things that weren’t books until eventually Aziraphale will just be settled in the flat with them.

Or they’ll make it clear they’re not interested.

Both options were terrifying in different ways and Crowley’s thoughts were circling around, trying to come up with plans to cope with either eventuality, when the shop’s door swung open.

Crowley peered through the bookcase to see a pair of men come in. The one in front was tall and lean, in a rather ragged burgundy hoodie, eyes darting around to take in everything, a worried expression on his face. The one behind was of average height but wide, with massive arms and wild orange-red hair that matched the color of his jumper. He gestured a little, then patted the taller man heavily on the back before sidling off towards the back of the shop.

Crowley just watched, not particularly concerned until the thin man approached the desk and magic whirled into being in Crowley’s sight, announcing the presence of magical ability. Crowley silently slid their feet to the floor and when the man moved closer, surged upright. “Can I help you?”

The thin man jumped at Crowley’s sudden appearance and twitched like he wanted to run, but instead he gave Crowley a sickly smile and spoke in a slightly-louder-than-necessary voice, “Oh, hello. This, uh, this is A. Z. Fell and Co. right?”

Crowley let the silence linger before finally answering. “Yes.”

“Oh, great, are, uh, are you A. Z. Fell?”

Another long drawn out silence, in which the very quiet shuffle of someone trying to be sneaky came from between the bookshelves. “No.”

“Um.” Another aborted urge to flee made the man twitch, and their eyes darted about, clearly hoping their friend would return and rescue them. “Perhaps you would know when A. Z. Fell will be available?”

Crowley lips curled back in a toothy smile as one of their magical alarms was triggered, silently alerting them and Aziraphale. They leaned towards the wizard, for what else could he be, and looked over the top of their glasses, yellow snake eyes almost glowing. “Sssoon.” They snapped their fingers just as the thin man tried to bolt and there was a very worried “Eek!” from among the shelves as scintillating golden light filled the shop.

**∞**

Aziraphale was in the back, mumbling to themself, trying to remember where they had last seen Miss Tick’s book order, rather distracted and annoyed with themself for having misplaced it. “Crowley is right, I really do need to get more organized,” they thought aloud, sighing in relief when they spotted the books hidden beneath some of the research they’d been doing.

Just as they were reaching for the books they sensed one of Crowley’s alarms being triggered by someone using wizardry very close by. A moment’s concentration told Aziraphale all they needed to know. _They’re fiddling with L-space! In my shop! The nerve!_ Book order forgotten, Aziraphale awe-stepped through the bookshelves, the scintillating golden light filling the little nook the wizard had secreted himself in.

“Eek!” The wizard flattened themself back against the bookshelf, clutching what Aziraphale realized was an unburned version of Agnes Nutter’s Nice and Accurate Prophecies.

Aziraphale sucked in a furious breath and grew to about ten feet tall and the light turned sharp and dangerous. “WHO DARES TO VIOLATE THE SANCTITY OF MY SANCTUARY?”

“Hey, Aziraphale,” drawled Crowley, pushing the unresisting thin man into the nook and snapping their fingers again, “looks like some more wizards came to visit.” The thin man returned to himself with a start, letting out a terrified moan when he saw Aziraphale and squeezing himself as far back against the shelves as physically possible.

“THIS ONE MANIPULATED L-SPACE! INSIDE MY SHOP!”

Crowley had only the vaguest memories of what L-space was but raised an inquiring eyebrow at the two wizards, who both cringed, well, cringed more. The former demon wagged a scolding finger at them and clucked their tongue. “You’ve made my friend very mad. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

The thin man held up his hands placatingly. “We can explain!” He looked towards the larger man, who grimaced and shrugged. “Yes, we’re wizards, we, uh, this is the Librarian, from the Unseen University, and I’m Rincewind, his assistant. We, uh...”

“YOU-, ahem, you called me looking for the Agnes Nutter book!” said Aziraphale, recognizing Rincewind’s voice. They pulled themself back together and held out their hands. “Give it here!”

The Librarian reluctantly handed it over with a disappointed sigh, recoiling in surprise when Aziraphale miracled it back to when it belonged.

“Yes! Yes I did call, you see we’d gotten word that there was a copy floating around and what with everything that was going on in Tadfield-”

“You know about Tadfield?” demanded Crowley.

Rincewind flinched back from their glare. “More or less,” he hedged. “We knew something big was gathering there, but there was just too much interference for Hex to get through.” Seeing their confusion he waved the words away. “Not important, anyway, last week we pinpointed the book’s signature to your shop, only it vanished and the shop was burned down? But then yesterday we heard Esk telling Dr. Ridcully he’d like the place. And clearly it’s not burned down anymore?”

“You know Esk?” asked Aziraphale, coldly. They reluctantly nodded. “And what did Esk say when you asked her about my shop?”

The two wizards looked down, abashed. “We didn’t… She didn’t. Thought it best if no one else knew.”

“So instead of consulting with someone who likely had pertinent information in regards to your intentions, you decided it would be a better idea to invade my shop and manipulate L-space with neither protections nor permission?” demanded Aziraphale, that dangerous light beginning to glow around them again.

“We-” Rincewind broke off when the Librarian started signing, making only a few noises for emphasis. “Uh, he says-”

“I understand him just fine,” said Aziraphale, signing and speaking in response. “I don’t care that you’re certified in L-space navigation, this is _my_ shop and you’ve broken at least a dozen protocols, let alone puting all of my books in danger! ...Yes, I know it’s unreachable from outside, _I made it that way for a reason_!”

The Librarian drooped under Aziraphale’s glare. He began explaining and Aziraphale interpreted it so Crowley could understand, [We didn’t know you were…]

“Celestialsss,” Crowley hissed, looking over the rims of their glasses for a moment.

The Librarian recoiled but continued their explanation. [We assumed the block was from whatever undid the fire. We only risked it because we’ve been getting forebodings, omens, and even portentous events all over campus-]

“Really, that bad?” Aziraphale interrupted to ask. “Portentous events are much worse than omens, which are quite a bit worse than forebodings,” Aziraphale told Crowley in an aside.

Both wizards nodded. “We know the Nutter woman was actually accurate so we had to risk it.”

“Why? What are they about?” asked Crowley.

The two wizards exchanged a speaking look and the Librarian finally nodded. “That there suddenly won’t be a campus anymore, along with a good chunk of the area around it. Which is most of London.” Rincewind shrugged at their expressions. “Seemed worth the risk.”

“Well, I can tell you right now that there is no mention of a college, university, campus, school or academy in her book, as all of those predictions were based around the events in Tadsfield and her descendants.” Aziraphale’s expression made it clear that questioning their assessment would not be a good idea. “But I am quite familiar with a number of divination methods and could see what, if anything, I can find. I will need access to the campus and possibly to go inside some of the buildings.”

Rincewind and the Librarian exchanged another look before both nodded. “There’s going to be a book fair next week, starting Thursday...”

“That will do. We will find you there on Thursday, in the library.” Aziraphale and Crowley escorted them out of the shop and when they were gone Aziraphale melted into the nearest chair to do some deep breathing. “I forgot how disconcerting ‘stepping through books is.” They shuddered a little, trying to shake off the lingering oddness. “And these were just mundane books.”

“I got to hand it to you, angel, you can be plenty scary when you want to be.” Crowley briefly rubbed their knuckles against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “So what’s L-space again?”

“Oh, it’s just that books can warp space/time into infinite loops that connect all libraries, that’s what the L stands for, with all other libraries and even libraries that don’t technically exist except as potential energy. With some of the books I have, I locked off the loops here ages ago so that no one can wander in from outside without knowing the key spells.”

“Oh, is that all,” said Crowley dryly, making Aziraphale snort. “You know...” Aziraphale looked up when they hesitated. “There’s a lot of room at the flat that I don’t really use. If you wanted someplace safer to store your collection. Make it more secure that way.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that to you, my dear.” Aziraphale let out another dismissive little chuckle, but stopped when the former demon frowned at them. “Crowley?”

“Look, it’s a big modern building with climate control and fire whatsits and we can magic it up all we want, right, so...” _Move in with me. Live with me._ They paced away and back to Aziraphale’s side. “So, let’s use it to keep the important bits safe, yeah?”

“I...” At a loss for words Aziraphale clasped their hands together in their lap to keep from seeking the ring to soothe themself. “You don’t have to do that. We’re still friends even if you don’t want to share.”

“Yeah, course, but, but I don’t mind sharing with you.” Aziraphale’s expression was so tender Crowley had to look away before they did something foolish. “Yes, I mean it.” They cleared their throat and asked, “How’d you feel about sharing some brunch?”

“Extremely favorable,” said Aziraphale, again putting aside their tumultuous feelings. “That has been rather more than enough excitement for today.”


	11. Love Is The Seventh Box (Saturday cont.)

They enjoyed a leisurely brunch and paid a visit to the park, both wary but slowly relaxing when nobody paid them any mind and nothing happened. They talked of nothing of consequence, both feeding the ducks handfuls of peas from the bag Aziraphale miracled up, the conversation barely stuttering when their hands touched as they reached for more. When the bag was empty they moved towards the Bentley in unspoken accord, both quiet on the brief drive back to the shop, caught up in their own thoughts.

Aziraphale was mentally running through ways of letting Crowley out of their impulsive offer without revealing how much they wanted to accept and how much they needed to decline. For fear of driving Crowley away with their clutter and chatter, sure the former demon would tire of it and them after a few weeks. And, Aziraphale admitted to themself, how could they cope with Crowley’s inevitable withdrawal if they became attached to spending so much time at their flat? As it was it would be devastating and they had made sure to keep themself mostly confined to the office. If it started to feel like home…

“Angel.”

Aziraphale blinked and looked over at Crowley when they realized they were parked, giving the former demon an apologetic smile. “Sorry, my mind was wandering.”

“Yeah.” Crowley opened their door and stepped out, coming around to walk with Aziraphale back to the shop. They quickly asked, “So, what would you like me to bring to the flat?” when the reformed angel opened their mouth to speak. “If you’re all right for a while, I could go check on a few things. Wouldn’t take long.”

“Oh, I, uh...” Aziraphale huffed out a breath, hating how relieved they felt to have Crowley’s persistence as an excuse to not say no. They unlocked the door of the shop and waved Crowley inside. “If you’re really sure? I’ve already made such a mess of your office-”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I barely used it, angel, ‘snot like you’re bothering anything.”

“Well… hmm, I need all my notes, obviously, and perhaps more of the books I’ve been using for research, and perhaps a few of my more delicate books and things...” Aziraphale was already leading Crowley into the back room so didn’t see their friend’s fond knowing grin.

When Crowley finally drove away, there were seven lovingly and carefully packed boxes in the Bentley, and a hastily stuffed satchel that barely contained their research notes.

The former demon drove directly to the flat as promised and, having also promised to not magic the boxes inside, retrieved the first box and settled it cautiously into the office. When the last box was inside Crowley stared at the stack of seven boxes and had to sit down when it hit them that Aziraphale was trusting them to _take care of their books_.

Needing an outlet for the sudden surge of nervous energy Crowley left the office for the kitchen, pulling out a new plant mister and filling it with water. Just as they were screwing the cap back on another thought occurred to them and a little smirk curled their lip. “I wonder...”

It wouldn’t do to call on heaven, no, that wouldn’t do at all after everything they’d both gone through. But there was one being Crowley had always believed in…

Half joking, half expecting a smitening bolt to manifest out of the air for daring to speak the words they closed their eyes, clasped the plastic bottle with both hands and murmured, “I bless this in the name of Aziraphale, Celestial Wossname, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Herald of Dawn, Keeper of Lore and Law.”

There was a breathless moment and then a rush of warmth through the bond and Crowley opened their eyes, shocked to see the entire mister glimmering with golden-bronze light for a moment before it faded away.

Their pocket buzzed and they answered without looking away from the plant mister. “Hey angel.”

“Crowley? Is everything okay? I thought...”

“Felt that did you?”

“Yes, what was it?”

“I, uh, well, probably just blasphemed against you actually,” the former demon said with a shocked laugh. “I tried blessing some water in your name.”

There was a clatter as the handset slipped from Aziraphale’s fingers and they scrambled to catch it. “You, you did what?”

Crowley laughed again and shook the mister, spritzing a little into the air and sticking their hand through it, feeling an inrush of power, the same as they had felt from Nanny Ogg’s scumble. “It worked.”

“It _did_? But, you said you did it in _my_ name? Not-”

“Of course not _them_!”

“No, no, of course but…” Aziraphale twined their fingers around the telephone cord, feeling a little breathless. “In my name? Really?”

Crowley closed their eyes, feeling a twinge over their heart at the disbelief in their angel’s voice. “Who else, angel? Our side. Always.”

Aziraphale let out a little sigh. “Always.”

Crowley looked over their shoulder towards the office, still wondering at what it might mean that Aziraphale had entrusted their books to Crowley’s care. “Angel, I uh-”

“Oh, hello Rose! Sorry, Crowley, I have a delivery I should see to. You, uh, everything is okay, isn’t it?”

“No, yeah, all fine, I’ll see you later.” Crowley listened as Aziraphale hung up before slipping the phone back into their pocket with a sigh. _Probably best to discuss it in person. Maybe better to not discuss it at all._ They looked again towards the office and that momentous stack of seven small boxes and turned away to growl at the quivering plants.

“Yeah, this is the real me today. The angel might be soft on you, but I most certainly won’t be.” Without thinking Crowley spritzed the nearest plant, jaw dropping open as a dozen gleaming new leaves shot out and unfurled. They lifted the mister to stare at it in shock.

**∞**

Rose had grown up in the area, one of a revolving group of kids that had learned that as long as you left Aziraphale, the books and the back room alone you could always find sanctuary in the strange bookshop. Even when it aught be shut tight, the door would open to those in need and keep out those who meant harm. Aziraphale had unknowingly earned a bit of a reputation among the locals. “Hey, Aziraphale. You’re looking happy today.”

“Oh, I am,” beamed Aziraphale, waving her inside. “You know me and new books.”

“Yeah,” the young woman smiled. “But I thought maybe it had something more to do with your friend in the shades,” she said offhandedly, looking at Aziraphale sidelong as she set the box down, grinning when they blushed. “You make a handsome couple.”

“I, uh, oh, do you think so?” Aziraphale shook their head at themself and waved the question away. “We’re friends, have been for what, goodness, seems like forever.”

“Friends are good. But... you don’t look at them like they’re just a friend?”

Aziraphale’s fingers nervously shifted towards where the gold ring used to be before they clasped their hands together behind their back and they gave Rose a small smile. “Oh, er, well, you know how it is sometimes. They’re a very good friend, the best actually. Can’t ask for more than that.”

Rose didn’t like the sadness they could hear in Aziraphale’s voice. “They look at you like the sun rises and sets on you. At least that’s how Mrs. Chan described it.”

“They do? She did?” Aziraphale shook their head in denial. “Oh, but, Crowley is a rather facetious creature, so I wouldn’t read too much into their expressions, my dear. Very wily. And sarcastic. But sweet too, they just cover it up with, what did you call it, shade? But not shady, well, not usually, but _at heart_ -”

Rose grinned at how sweet it was to watch Aziraphale be flustered over their friend. “I think you’re reading too little into it. _Angel_? As endearments go, that’s pretty top of the line.”

Aziraphale was staring at her, feeling a hint of concern. In all their years of clandestine meetings Aziraphale couldn’t recall Crowley letting a human hear them use the term. “When did you hear that?”

Rose smiled not unkindly. “You two had a rather public argument last Saturday? Charlie said it was a big one, something about moving to Hollywood?”

“Hollywood?” Aziraphale echoed in confusion.

“Someplace with lots of famous people anyway. Off among the stars?”

“Uh, oh. Right. The stars.” _How many people heard that?_

“And when everything was back to normal on Sunday we just figured you’d made up. Fair warning though, Karen’s been spreading a rumor your friend tried to set the shop on fire but no one believes her.” She went out for the rest of the boxes, pausing when she came back in and saw Aziraphale frowning and wringing their hands. “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Oh, no, I’m not upset with you Rose, it’s, just, if I may? What, uh, exactly have I done that makes people think I am, um, _romantically inclined_ , towards Crowley?”

“Well, the way you look at them, for one. Like they hung the stars and moon just for you.” She frowned to see Aziraphale wringing their hands even more. “I don’t think they’ve noticed, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. Was, er, there anything else?”

“You took off your ring.” Rose was too busy setting down the boxes to see Aziraphale’s stunned expression.

“My, my ring?” Aziraphale stared down at their right hand, at the pale spot where the golden ring had sat for a very long time. “I didn’t expect anyone to notice that.”

“Of course we noticed, you’re, er, very comfortable with yourself, so any little change is pretty obvious,” said Rose diplomatically, tapping away on her work tablet to pull up the delivery invoice. “And you’ve been spending a lot more time together. Seemed really happy?”

Aziraphale just stared. They weren’t really spending that much more time together, they just weren’t hiding it anymore. Except… spending the night in Crowley’s flat was very new. Sometimes they’d spend the night talking, sometimes in silence or with Crowley resting but still generally together. Was that really all that significant? In their heart of hearts Aziraphale wanted it to be.

“I’m really sorry-”

“You’re not wrong,” Aziraphale admitted, giving her a bittersweet smile. “About me anyway. About, er, but I don’t think Crowley- Not anymore. I treated them rather poorly, you see. I’m lucky they still want to be my friend after everything, so...” They gave a helpless little shrug and swirled their finger across the tablet to sign for the delivery. “It would be nice if you were right though. Maybe one day, hmm?”

“I think it will be sooner than you think,” said Rose encouragingly, patting Aziraphale on the shoulder. “Hey, look at that, the tablet didn’t crash this time! Maybe your bad luck with electronics is turning around,” she teased, making them smile.

“Perhaps my luck with everything is turning around,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully.

Rose gave them an encouraging smile. “I should buy a lottery ticket, see if some of your luck will rub off on me.” Her smile faltered. “I could use some good luck.”

Aziraphale gave her an understanding smile. “How is your mother doing?”

“Better, slowly but better. They never did catch the hit and run driver.” Rose shrugged and sighed. “She’s still not talking to me but at least she’s not telling everyone Mila and I are ‘hell bound devil worshipers’ anymore, so, small steps, right?”

“She’ll come around,” Aziraphale soothed, offering Rose a hug when she sniffled, rubbing her back as she cried into their shoulder. “There, there, dear. I know it’s hard. She does love you, I am absolutely sure of that. You just… upset her world and she has to find her balance again. I’d offer to talk to her but I think I’d probably just make it worse.” Aziraphale pretended to sleight of hand a miracled handkerchief from behind her ear and offered it to Rose when she eased away.

Rose laughed damply and accepted it, wiping at her eyes. “Oh, yeah, probably, especially with you and your friend being the main topic of discussion at the moment.”

“Oh. But, really? Surely there’s more important things to talk about,” huffed Aziraphale.

Rose smiled and shook her head. “Sometimes people want to talk about happy stuff, Aziraphale, and you two seem really happy together. But my lips are sealed,” she said, miming locking her lips together.

“Thank you Rose, I do appreciate it. Oh, let me… for your trouble.”

Aziraphale pressed some money into her hand, and she didn’t bother to protest, knowing they would somehow manage to slip it into her pocket without her feeling a thing, which was really amazing because they were so terrible at sleight of hand. Maybe that was part of the act. “Thanks. See you next week!”

“Give Mila my regards. Mind how you go.” Aziraphale waved and closed the shop door, switching the sign to closed and sitting down heavily in their chair to consider everything they’d just discovered.

**∞**

Crowley went a little mad with the mister.

If Crowley’s plants had been luxuriously verdant before, they were now, simply, magical. They were somehow luminously green, their leaves lightly gilded with golden-bronze accents that _gleamed_. If any of them had developed spots or worse, wilted, after the last few days’ neglect, it was certainly not evident anymore.

The former demon actually contemplated putting the mister in the safe with Aziraphale’s empty thermos but had to laugh because they could just make more, and having it readily available was probably the smarter course of action, in case any more old coworkers showed up.

Crowley put the mister away and found themself facing the same thoughts they had tried to escape. They stared at the stark concrete walls, the pieces of art that seemed so ridiculously, cringingly _obvious_ now that Aziraphale was spending time in the flat. _Ugh,_ _what the heaven was I thinking?_

They wandered around the office, staring critically at the desk and the ridiculous throne. They snapped their fingers, making a face at the big overstuffed tartan chair they’d made, snapping their fingers again and sneering at the sleek black and chrome seat that looked vaguely like a headstone before changing it back and collapsing onto the seat to berate themself for being ridiculous.

“I don’t have to change my place just because Aziraphale’s going to keep some stuff here,” Crowley told the air, ignoring the little skipped heartbeat of terror and joy at the statement. “The angel will just have to live with it! If I let them muck about, everything will be tartan everywhere and books all over the place.”

They stared at the seven boxes and admitted, “I don’t mind the books, really.” Crowley lurched out of the chair and began to pace. “Aziraphale’s got to hate it here,” Crowley sighed, and admitted, “I hate it here.”

Frustrated with themself, Crowley fussed with Aziraphale’s papers and realized they’d forgotten the satchel of research in the Bentley. It was a relief to leave their circling thoughts and bound downstairs, impulsively deciding to go back to the shop after bringing the papers inside. It wasn’t like they really needed to spend time away from Aziraphale if they didn’t want to, there wasn’t anyone to hide their friendship from anymore. And it would be a welcome distraction from their thoughts, as there was always something new Aziraphale had read to talk about, or they could take a trip to the museum, or the park or something, anything. As long as it wasn’t staring at the dull gray walls driving themself insane.

Crowley waved open the door of the Bentley and pulled out the satchel, which failed to contain the myriad of notebooks and reams of loose paper, spewing them over the back seat and the floor.

“Ugh, angel.” Crowley began gathering the papers and slipping them back into the satchel, shaking their head to find Aziraphale had even taken notes on a scrap of parchment from their ‘preservation’ project, as well as what seemed to be a piece of papyrus. “What other little projects have you been up to angel?”

Contorting to check for any other escaped notes hidden under the seats, Crowley flailed their hand around and froze when they felt something that was definitely not paper and definitely didn’t belong in the Bentley. “What the _hell_?” After a moment they slowly withdrew their hand and stared at the golden ring that had adorned Aziraphale’s pinky for millennia.

They absently closed the Bentley’s door and brought the satchel up to the flat, setting it next to the stack of boxes, their thoughts entirely focused on the ring enclosed in their fist.

The former demon sat on the chair and opened their hand, holding the ring up to the light. There was a blackened crack bisecting the crest like a lightning bolt, the entire thing pitted as though it had been dipped in acid, and the gold was flaking off, revealing a dull gray metal beneath.

Crowley had assumed Aziraphale’s heavenly mark had vanished on Tuesday, the way their own hellish mark had, but apparently not. It was easy enough to figure out why it looked the way it did, but that left a lot of unanswered questions. When had it been, well, smited? How had it ended up in the Bentley? What did it mean? They set it down on the desk and stood to pace. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

They reached for the phone and turned away before picking it up. “No, not my business, right, that’s that. They’d have mentioned it if they wanted to talk about it. ‘Snot like they’ve had it since the sodding Garden and never once went without it until Tuesday. ‘Snot like I’ve noticed them constantly reaching for it since then or anything. Nah, nope, not important.”

Crowley finally decided to pretend they hadn’t found it and moved to leave but looked back over their shoulder, almost feeling as though their eyes were being drawn back to the desecrated heavenly mark. It sat alone on the desk where they could see the faintest gleam of sullen red light reflecting off of the pitted and flaking golden surface and they snatched it up and hurried down to the Bentley.

**∞**

Aziraphale didn’t know what to think about everything so didn’t think about anything except sorting through the new books that had just arrived. Then about moving things around so that the spaces left by the books they’d moved to Crowley’s were filled in. And just as they were beginning to wonder if Crowley was going to be back soon, they saw the Bentley pull up outside and park.

And when a few pedestrians stopped to admire the car, Aziraphale realized Crowley wasn’t doing the make people look away thing, which they really should think up a proper name for-

Crowley opened the lock with a flick of their fingers and slipped into the shop, locking the door behind themself. “Aziraphale?”

“Back here,” they answered, their smile faltering when Crowley came around the bookshelf. “What’s wrong?”

“You tell me.” Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face as they held out their hand and revealed the ring.

Aziraphale gasped in shock. “You, you _found_ it? Where?”

“In the Bentley. Under your seat.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale couldn’t look away but their hands curled into fists and they shifted backward when Crowley stepped closer.

Crowley growled when the silence dragged on. “You going to tell me what, how it got there?”

Aziraphale blinked and looked up at Crowley and then out the window at the people milling about, realizing that while they were safe from magical spying, the whole neighborhood was full of people who could, and _had_ , heard and seen far more than the former angel had ever wanted them to. Aziraphale pushed themself up to their feet. “Not here. Somewhere more private, if you don’t mind?”

Crowley eyed them for a long moment before nodding, closing their hand around the ring again. They led Aziraphale back to the Bentley, sitting in stony silence as Aziraphale got into the passenger seat. It was a short, familiar drive and Aziraphale sat up when they realized they were heading back to the flat. “Oh, but-”

“It’s the most private place I know,” Crowley said. “You have a better place in mind?”

“No, I, I know it is, I just wasn’t sure you’d want, want me to...”

Crowley just grunted and parked, waving for Aziraphale to precede them inside. Aziraphale moved towards the office for lack of a better place, wringing their hands together as Crowley paced into the room and set the ring down on the desk and pulled off their glasses to pin them with a stare. “So?”

Aziraphale gave them a weak smile and admitted, “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about, how did it end up in the Bentley?” Crowley asked, flinging themself onto the couch.

“Oh, uh, I’m not completely sure but I think it must have fallen out of my pocket?” They tapped at their coat and looked, frowning to find that there was a hole burned through the lining on the right side. “Ah.”

“When?”

Aziraphale poked curiously at the burned spot. “On, on Monday night, thought I suppose it was technically Tuesday morning by then of course. Before… everything.” Aziraphale gave them a faint smile and quickly looked away again. “Things got a little complicated after that and when I couldn’t find it I assumed it had, you know… poof.”

“And why was it in your pocket?” Crowley leaned forward when Aziraphale looked towards them, eyes shimmering with tears. “Angel?”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do with it,” they admitted, taking a step towards Crowley but stopping themself. “It hurt to take off. Didn’t expect that, though I probably should have.”

“You _took it off?_ ” Crowley stared, shocked, heart thudding, and stood to close some of the distance between them. “Tell me why, angel,” they whispered, watching the first tear fall.

Aziraphale looked down at the pale spot on their pinky. “Because I thought, I realized the itch wasn’t just happening to me and I thought, maybe… Surely if I broke my vow to heaven then I, I wouldn’t be an angel anymore and what was happening to you, to us, would stop.” Aziraphale looked up when Crowley’s hand reached out and gently covered theirs. “Didn’t actually work of course but I had to try.”

“Aziraphale...” Crowley shook their head, at a loss for words. “You, why would you-”

“I couldn’t let you suffer if there was a chance to fix it. We’d been lucky enough to survive after everything and I wasn’t going to-” Aziraphale looked back down at their hands, clasping Crowley’s tightly. “I couldn’t bear to lose you again. So, I chose. Our side.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, feeling humbled. “I didn’t realize. When you said, about hellfire, when my wings… I didn’t realize you really meant it.”

“I didn’t want to upset you. I know how sore of a subject it is for you, and it just never seemed like the right time to bring it up. And it didn’t, hasn’t worked at all as I thought it would,” the reformed angel admitted. “I could tell I wasn’t part of the host anymore, but I never stopped being able to go to holy ground or touch holy water. I have no desire to test if I can go back to heaven but since you’ve been back to hell then it’s probably safe to assume the same goes for me as well.”

“You know, angel...” Crowley was staring at their hands and looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes which were a luminous mix of green and gold in that moment. “I’ve a feeling we can do a lot of things now that we couldn’t. Or, at least not since whatever happened before Eden.”

“Why do you say that?”

Crowley’s lips began to curl into a grin and they backed towards the hallway, pulling Aziraphale with them. “You’ll see. But close your eyes first.” Aziraphale frowned a little but did as told, intrigued. The former demon led them down the hall and positioned them in the doorway to the sun room. “Alright.”

Aziraphale opened their eyes and immediately blinked twice, mouth falling open in shock. The small jungle of plants Crowley had kept there had somehow redoubled and had taken on golden-bronze accents that no natural plant could ever grow. They spun to look at Crowley, who was grinning hugely. “Crowley, what-”

“The holy water did this.”

Aziraphale turned back to the plants and then back to Crowley. “How much holy water did you _use_?”

Their smile went a little sheepish but they just shrugged the question away. “Enough. It does have its limits. It doesn’t do this to plants I’ve owned for less than a month, and only one growth spurt no matter how much I spritz them again. It does cure spots and wilting,” Crowley said, smirking when Aziraphale smiled. “Which is just how you like it, huh.”

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale stroked a finger over the nearest leaf and asked, “And you really blessed it in my name?”

“I did. When I touched the ‘holy water’ Nanny made, I could feel it, you know, like you do, like I did. And since I’m not a demon anymore I wondered if I could make it again too.” Crowley couldn’t help but smile. “Have to admit, I didn’t quite expect this.”

Aziraphale laughed. “How could you, my dear? These are, these are… oh. Oh.” A sudden memory, an ancient memory, surfaced and Aziraphale sucked in a shuddering breath, clinging to Crowley’s hand when they moved closer in concern. “This is how the Garden looked, was supposed to look. Before they moved it to earth and made it mundane. They stripped the magic away. They took everything away.”

Crowley slipped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders when they shuddered and steered the former angel to sit at on the lounge they had conjured almost a week earlier. “Do you remember anything else?”

Aziraphale shook their head and did a little deep breathing. “No, mostly just the plants, and grief.”

“I’m sorry, angel, I didn’t mean-”

Aziraphale waved the words away. “Nonsense, you couldn’t have known it would trigger a memory. And I would rather remember than not.”

“Alright.” Crowley wanted to bring up the books and ask what, if anything, it meant but settled for saying, “So, uh, we should figure out where you want to keep your books.”

“And while we do that, you can tell me about how you set your spell around the shop,” Aziraphale said, glad of the change of topic. “I can’t wait to hear how you did it. Really quite clever, and I never even realized.”

Crowley couldn’t resist their smile and they retreated back to the office, where they both stopped to stare at Aziraphale’s ring gleaming sullenly on the desk. “What should we do with it?”

“I, I don’t actually know. I, er, did you...”

Crowley answered Aziraphale’s unasked question. “I never had one. I don’t recall any of the ones who ended up ‘falling’ having marks.”

“Is there somewhere safe we can keep it?” Aziraphale asked, reluctantly moving closer and picking it up, frowning to see how deteriorated it was. “I might need to make a foray into heaven and leave it there.”

“Well, I’ve got an actual safe,” Crowley said, gesturing to the sketch, pulling it aside and unlocking the safe when Aziraphale nodded. “You can keep it here until you decide.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide when they saw the thermos and looked towards where Ligur’s remains had been, then back at Crowley, whose expression had gone stony. “Oh, is, was that what...” The former demon nodded, expecting judgment or at least a disapproving look but Aziraphale just moved closer, put the ring into the safe and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“Eh, Ligur was a nasty piece of work, much like Hastur. I don’t feel bad about it,” shrugged Crowley, closing the safe, stopping when Aziraphale put their hand on Crowley’s arm.

“No, I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t give you more.” The reformed angel glared at the spot by the door, and when they turned back to Crowley there was a light in their eyes that Crowley hadn’t seen in a very long time. “They were coming to take you away, I assume.”

Crowley nodded. “It, uh, it happened right before you called. But it worked out in the end.”

“It did,” Aziraphale agreed, patting Crowley’s arm and once the sketch was back in place began peppering Crowley with questions about the magic they had used while carefully beginning to unpack their books. Inwardly they tamped down the righteous fury that had ignited at the thought of someone invading the flat with the purpose of harming their best friend. They watched Crowley sidelong as they talked and gestured and in their heart, they admitted, _Mine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the chapter name is a play on Love Is The Seventh Wave. Yes I am a dork.
> 
> No, it wasn't Crowley who ran over Rose's mother, but glod did I cackle when I wrote it. terrible, terrible terrible, but I'm still laughing


	12. Bespelling Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale does a lot of magic and Crowley helps as best they can.

Sunday morning was filled with magic, primarily from Aziraphale who spent most of the night feverishly working on creating the spell components. There was a sense of urgency, to get the spells set as soon as possible, and of guilt, for not taking better care for Crowley’s safety. It wasn’t exactly rational, since an angel putting protections over a demon would have been an even bigger red flag, but Aziraphale had dealt with emotions for long enough to accept that most of the time logic had nothing to do with it. _If it did, they wouldn’t--_ Aziraphale jerked their thoughts away from that precipice and made themself return to working.

They were still busily scribbling notes and mumbling spells when Crowley emerged from the bedroom and the former demon leaned against the door to watch Aziraphale work.

There clearly was a method to the angel’s madness. Mumbling as they picked up an item, like a piece of the primordial obsidian they’d collected on Friday, the reformed angel would turn it over in their hands and make note of it in the notebook before carefully setting it into a spell diagram to enchant it, sorting it into one of a handful of different piles set apart on the desk when it was done. Considering the size of the piles it was clear Aziraphale had been working since Crowley had gone to sleep the night before.

In a soft tone they knew from experience wouldn’t disturb their angel from their work, Crowley leaned close to their ear and murmured, “Breakfast?”

“Mmm, crepes would be lovely,” Aziraphale answered without even thinking, their thoughts entirely focused on what they were doing. It wasn’t until they heard the front door close with a little more force than necessary that Aziraphale snapped back to reality, and immediately pulled the compass from their pocket, only to jump when Crowley spoke.

“Ready for a break?” The old snake set down the bag of take-out and asked, “What’s wrong?” when Aziraphale bowed their head and let out a slow breath.

“It’s, it’s nothing, just, uh, just...” Aziraphale rubbed at their eyes, running their thumb over the embossed winged serpent of the compass. “Must have been working too long,” they hedged, trying to give Crowley a smile, but it slid away under their concerned expression. “I’m sorry I ignored you earlier, that was terribly rude of me.”

“You were busy,” Crowley corrected. “I don’t expect you to drop everything just ‘cause I show up, angel.” Understanding came when they saw the black compass clasped in Aziraphale’s hand and they gently took it, running their fingers over the raised decoration. “Is this how you found me on my little walkabout?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale stared at the compass in Crowley’s hands and the words spilled out. “I’m sure the bond helped significantly. It should only show me your general direction when you’re not carrying my, uh, the one I traded with you, but somehow I could see you, even after you crossed into hell, even when you were pulled through the rift, which is well beyond the enchantments’ power.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, seeing the understanding in their eyes. “I cast the decoy spell through the mirror.”

“And had no idea if it would work,” nodded Crowley, setting the compass back into Aziraphale’s hand and letting their own rest over it. “I promise I’ll tell you if I’m going anywhere even remotely dangerous, okay?”

There was a lump in Aziraphale’s throat and they looked away from Crowley’s eyes, down at their barely touching hands. “Thank you.”

Crowley ran their finger over the winged serpent decoration again. “Proved a little more spot on than coincidence, huh?” they said, smirking a little, getting a small but real smile in response.

“I found them at Boffo’s.”

“Wot, really? That explains it then.” Crowley fetched plates and forks and started dishing up the crepes, watching sidelong as Aziraphale slid the black compass back into the pocket of their waistcoat. “Didn’t mean to worry you. Er, just figured I’d get us something to eat while you were busy, since I’m no help with this stuff,” they said, gesturing at the books and notes and spell diagrams. “Least I can do is get you a snack.”

“That’s not true,” protested Aziraphale, accepting the plate and inhaling deeply of the lovely scent. “You do excellent spellwork-”

“Flattered you think so, but I’ve never had the knack for this. You toss ‘em about as easily as a miracle. It’s wossname, second nature to you. I do okay with off the cuff stuff but I have a hell-o of a time trying to do it a second time.” They watched Aziraphale savor the first bite and admitted, “I had yours with me. Usually do.”

“You, you do?” Aziraphale’s pulse skipped a little when Crowley reached into their jacket, for the small hidden interior pocket over their heart, and revealed the golden-bronze compass.

“Never knew when it could come in handy,” said Crowley, staring down at it, running their right thumb over the embossed gryphon. The tender expression on Aziraphale’s face had Crowley feeling flustered as they returned it to its pocket. “Besides, it belongs to my best friend. Wouldn’t want to misplace it or anything.”

“I, oh, that’s, that’s very sweet of you,” said Aziraphale, beaming at Crowley, who busied themself with eating with their usual quickness. “Young Warlock asked to borrow yours one time near his, hmm, sixth birthday I think? And I thought nothing of it, really, since I’d let him use it as a mundane compass numerous times by then. But it turned out he was trying to impress some older children who ended up taking it from him and they put a nasty scratch on it. I miracled it away of course but I admit I was quite incensed with them. After that I made sure it was secured at all times.”

“I seem to recall him showing me one you’d given him around then,” recalled Crowley.

“Seemed the simplest way to ensure yours stayed safe.” Aziraphale sighed and ate another bite of the crepes. “I wonder how he’s doing.”

Crowley frowned but shrugged. “Better off without us meddling in his life, I bet.”

A hum of agreement. “You suspected all along,” Aziraphale said after another bite.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” the former demon admitted. “But yeah.”

“Uncanny,” Aziraphale recalled, decidedly _not_ recalling the rest of that disastrous conversation. After a few more bites, the former angel mentioned, “We could, er, we _could_ make him forget. Us I mean. Since he’s not actually the anti-christ.”

Crowley considered it but shook their head. “Best not. Fiddling with minds is iffy enough and we’ve got our new Arrangement to think about, the whole ‘no meddling’ thing.” Aziraphale sighed but nodded, enjoying another bite of their crepes and Crowley leaned back against the desk and added, “Maybe they can get him a therapist who’s familiar with the _occult_.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look at the teasing but finished their bite before responding. “As I am no longer an angel--”

“Oh, bollocks,” Crowley scorned. “If those arseholes can call themselves _angels_ then you certainly can.”

Aziraphale smiled but finished another bite before continuing. “Thank you, but as I was saying, I am _technically_ a fallen angel--”

“Nope,” Crowley corrected, smirking when Aziraphale gave them a surprised look. “You fell, but aren’t fallen. You left of your own accord.”

“I, yes, I suppose that’s true. But why does that sound familiar?”

“Agnes again, ‘The angel who Fell, shadowed by the angel who hath Fallen.’”

“Oh, OH!” Aziraphale hastily finished the last of their crepes and lifted the satchel onto the desk while Crowley looked on in bemusement. “That reminded me...” They quickly dug through the papers until they pulled out the scrap of paper that Nanny Ogg had given them on Monday. “Look at this!”

Crowley reluctantly took it and puzzled out the archaic script and cryptic spelling. “The one who Fell must reclaim their legacy, wrested from the false worlde written with a snake’s tongue, or they and the Fallen One will be felled again, and the true worlde whilst follow them into destruction.’ Hmm, don’t like that.” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, seeing they had caught the reference to them being felled _again._ “So Agnes Nutter’s sent us another message. Any idea what it even means? ‘False world written with a _snake’s tongue_?’”

“I haven’t spent any time working on it. It didn’t seem important with everything else that’s been happening,” Aziraphale admitted, accepting the paper back and setting it inside one of their notebooks. They looked at Crowley, who had been smiling before Aziraphale had brought up the prophecy but was now scowling at the notebook, and decided to try to lighten the mood. “I suppose occult _might be_ a suitable term, if we’re going to keep getting warnings from a long dead witch.”

The former demon grinned at the reformed angel’s playfully put-upon tone. “Oh really.”

“On the other hand,” Aziraphale said, pursing their lips in feigned consideration, “you are no longer a demon, especially since you can make and use holy water. So, really, _ethereal_ could apply to both of us-”

“No.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s empty plate and magicked it into the kitchen, wagging their finger at Aziraphale’s smug expression. “Absolutely not. I _like_ occult, and spooky, and eerie, and, and-”

“Uncanny?”

“And uncanny!” Crowley agreed and turned to pace to hide their smile.

“Well... if you insist.” There was a snap and a rustle of cloth.

Crowley did not like the sound of that and whipped around, their jaw falling open in shock. “What the-”

Aziraphale was dressed head to toe in black and indigo instead of their usual cream and sky blue, with silver accents instead of their typical gold. Even their hair had become more silver than gold, and their eyes were dark and brimming with mischief in a way Crowley hadn’t seen in thousands of years. “Uncanny enough for you?” Aziraphale asked, a wicked smile curling their lips. “I knew you’d look good in tartan.”

Crowley looked down at themself and squawked in amused indignation to see their usual clothes bleached to sepia tones, their vest indeed changed to a rusty tartan pattern. “Angel!” Crowley tried to scold but then Aziraphale pulled a pair of Crowley’s sunglasses out of the air and slid them on. “You stop that right this minute!” The final straw was when they tried to slouch in the chair the way Crowley always did and the serpent dissolved into laughter, taking their hand to pull them up. “Please, I’m begging, go back to being ethereal,” Crowley pleaded, wiping at the tears of mirth escaping their eyes. “This is too painful!”

Aziraphale grinned at Crowley’s helpless amusement. “I don’t know… _occult_ might suit me better.” Aziraphale stood and circled the fondly exasperated former demon and laughed when Crowley spluttered and gestured pleadingly towards their altered clothes. “As you wish.” Another snap and they were back in their usual clothes, though Aziraphale was still wearing Crowley’s glasses.

Crowley did a double-take at the phrase _as you wish_ but let out another laugh and rested their hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “That _was_ uncanny. Do you have a fever? Can angels get fevers?” They pressed their other wrist to Aziraphale’s forehead, clearly teasing. “You do feel a little warm. You’ve clearly been working yourself too hard.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Aziraphale agreed, feeling giddy at hearing their best friend laughing so freely after so very long. At seeing them shed actual tears of mirth. “I do believe crepes were exactly what the doctor ordered. Miracle cure, you know,” they said, grinning when Crowley laughed again. “It’s so good to hear your laugh,” Aziraphale blurted. “I, er, that wasn’t too-”

“It was terrible!” Crowley wailed dramatically with a grin, soothing Aziraphale’s fears of having unwittingly crossed a line. “You might’ve discorporated me from sheer embarrassment!”

“I could not have,” Aziraphale scolded with a relieved smile. “That would have required putting you back in that atrocious hairstyle you had during the French Revolution.”

“Oh, oh!” Crowley staggered and clutched at their chest as though wounded. “That’s a low blow, angel. You, you definitely owe me lunch for that one.”

“Yes, that was rather cruel of me, wasn’t it,” Aziraphale agreed as the silly mood shifted into something they didn’t have a name for; unfamiliar but somehow warm and comfortable at the same time. “We haven’t had much chance for laughter, have we?” they asked, pulling off the glasses and holding them up.

Crowley blinked but nodded in answer to Aziraphale’s unspoken offer. “No. Not for a very long time.” The former demon dipped their head to let Aziraphale slip the glasses on, and when their fingers brushed ever so lightly over Crowley’s temples and ears, their face suffused with heat at the contact. “Having to be wary and watchful kinda kills the fun.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale pulled their hands away and tucked them behind their back to keep themself from doing more than they had already done. “But each new day is a great big fish!”

Crowley cracked a grin when Aziraphale frowned. “Wot’s that now?”

“Er, it sounds much better in the original tongue. It means-” Aziraphale was in the middle of explaining when they both felt one of Crowley’s alarms being triggered inside the shop and in an instant they moved towards the door together, in a hurry to discover who or what had set it off.

**∞**

When they arrived, the door was locked and the lights were off. Aziraphale cautiously opened the door and did a double-take when Crowley stepped in ahead of them, their hands changed into lightning-edged talons. They rested their hand on Crowley’s arm and shook their head, gesturing for them to wait. Aziraphale stepped in beside them and called out, “Hello? Someone here?”

There was a hesitant shuffle and a scruffy looking white teenager peeped out from among the shelves. Aziraphale quickly stepped in front of Crowley with a smile of welcome as the former demon hastily released the magic and shifted their hands back. “Hello again. Erica wasn’t it? Everything alright?” Aziraphale moved deeper into the room but not closer to the girl, flicking on the light on the desk. “We were just going to have some tea and biscuits before I open for the day, if you’d like to join us? You’re more than welcome.”

“I, uh, I’m sorry, I already ate them-” the teenager confessed guiltily, holding out the empty tin.

“Oh, no, those stale old things, I forgot I even had them,” Aziraphale scoffed, reaching behind a shelf and miracling up a much nicer but smaller tin of biscuits and setting them on a table in the middle of the room. “No, here’s a nice fresh tin for us to share.” They noticed the teen darting worried looks at Crowley and offered them a reassuring smile. “This is my dear friend Crowley. They’re a little shy, do forgive them, they don’t mean to be rude,” Aziraphale said in a mock-scolding tone as they looked over at the former demon, who was standing stock still by the door, staring at the teen.

Crowley blinked and raised a hand in greeting, circling around behind Aziraphale and hooking their hand around Aziraphale’s elbow and almost dragging the reformed angel towards the back. “We’ll just go make the tea, eh?”

“Yes, we’ll make some tea, feel free to open the tin!” said Aziraphale brightly, scowling in annoyance at Crowley but biting back their scolding when Crowley paused time. “What’s wrong?”

“That kid’s got a demon’s kiss.” They waved their hand at Aziraphale’s horrified expression. “Not a _kiss_ kiss, just a magical mark to show that they’ve been _chosen_.”

“Ohh.” Aziraphale wrung their hands with sudden understanding. “Oh no, that’s terrible. Is there anything we can do? Chosen ones are...” _Doomed_ , Aziraphale didn’t say, but their face said it all.

Crowley grimaced in agreement but shrugged. “I don’t know. There wasn’t anything I could’ve done before and now..? She’d have to believe in us for it to work, if it could work, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes, I believe so. Oh dear, that poor child. If, if we, surely there must be some way to prevent..?”

Crowley gave another helpless shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not exactly common, no matter what TV show people might claim. She does get a choice though, so maybe we can influence-” The former demon cringed at the word, thinking immediately of Warlock. “-her choices. Maybe. We’d better ask the witches too.”

“It’s something,” Aziraphale sighed. “We’ll just have to do our best and hope for the best,” they said, giving Crowley a grateful smile. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Crowley waved it away and brought them back with the same gesture, pacing the little back room while Aziraphale busied themself with making the tea. From the main area came the small familiar sound of a biscuit tin being opened and a soft, “Ooh,” from Erica. They shared a smile and Aziraphale led the way back out with a tea tray.

“Here we go,” said Aziraphale, pouring them each a cup, encouraging Erica to doctor hers however she wished. “Didn’t mean to startle you when we arrived, I know Crowley can be more than a little intimidating.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m right proper villain,” grumbled Crowley as they dipped a biscuit into their tea, letting out a tiny disappointed noise when it broke and sank beneath the surface. A smothered giggle escaped Erica and Crowley just sighed resignedly and ate the remainder of the dry biscuit in one bite.

Aziraphale tried to keep a straight face but had to clear their throat before they confided to Erica, “There’s been some unsavory types bothering us of late, so I had to have some security put it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, staring down into her cup, clearly waiting for a scolding or worse.

“Oh, no, dear, you’re fine, no harm done!” Aziraphale soothed, patting the table near her hand but not actually touching her. “It’s my fault for not putting the word out that I had to move things closer to the front of the shop. Maybe you can help me do that?” the former angel asked her hopefully, beaming at Erica when she gave a hesitant smile and a nod. “Oh, I would be ever so grateful. Here now, for your trouble.” They pretended to search their pockets before summoning some money from the till and setting it on the table by Erica’s hand. “I’m so relieved that’s solved!”

Erica quickly scooped up the money and hid it away. “Can I come back later?”

“As often as you like, my dear. Always happy for the company. Mrs. Chan will let you use their washroom if you need it, a little arrangement she and I have.” Aziraphale kept up the friendly chatter, putting the girl at ease as she drank two cups of tea and ate way more biscuits than the tin actually contained.

“Thanks Ms. Fell,” Erica said as she finished her tea, taking the last few biscuits when Aziraphale held the tin out to her. “I’ll tell the others about moving things, okay?”

“Thank you, my dear, I really appreciate it.” They didn’t wilt with a sad sigh until the front door closed behind Erica and the reformed angel rested their face in their hands.

“There’s only so much you can do, angel,” Crowley murmured knowingly, rubbing their hand against Aziraphale’s shoulder briefly. “How long’ve you been a lost and found?”

“Oh, since I opened really,” Aziraphale admitted. “There were a lot more of the poor mites back then of course, and very few of them have any reason to believe… but I did, do what I can. Food, clothes, money if they’ll take it. Never feels like enough.”

“No, never does.” Crowley poured themself and the former angel more tea and sprawled out in their chair with a heavy sigh as they both fell into their thoughts.

**∞**

“I can’t keep dwelling on that, I need a distraction,” Aziraphale said after a while. “Are you willing to show me more of your spellwork before we visit Eunice this afternoon?”

Crowley was frowning at the dregs and crumbs in the bottom of their cup but quickly magicked them away when Aziraphale spoke. “Eh? Oh, sure. Speaking of, how exactly are we going to sign her up? I don’t want to spend a drunken night in the joke shop. It’d probably be enough to give me nightmares.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I did discuss that with Nanny while you were talking with Granny. We don’t have to drink again now that the Arrangement has been created, just the newcomers. And she gave us a supply of the little cups!” Aziraphale sprang up and pulled out a repurposed tin clearly decorated by one of Nanny’s brood, with bright shiny (mostly) apples in a rainbow of colors and glittery star and moon stickers. Inside were dozens of the little wooden cups and there was the definite scent of applewood. “Some of her children carved them. Or was it grandchildren? Anyway, she said she’ll send us more if we need them.”

Crowley took one of the tiny cups and smirked a little. “We should probably put _her_ ‘holy water’ in the safe. And did she ever explain what happens when it touches metal?”

“Boom,” said Aziraphale with an expansive hand gesture. “And that’s just her usual scumble. Who knows what this one would do.”

“Here’s hoping we never find out,” said Crowley, dropping the little cup back into the painted tin. “Alright, get your notes and let’s _get a wiggle on_.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale agreed with a smile at Crowley’s playful teasing, putting the tin away and leading the way outside, notebook in hand.

They weren’t outside for more than a few minutes before one of Aziraphale’s neighbors just happened to come outside and strike up a brief conversation before making an excuse and hurrying off. Aziraphale tried to shrug it off, but then it happened again, and then a third time and finally the reformed angel retreated back inside with Crowley in tow and locked the door.

“I am dreadfully sorry,” Aziraphale told Crowley, wringing their hands together, unable to read the former demon’s expression as they leaned against one of the pillars. “I’m sure they don’t mean anything by it.” Crowley still didn’t say anything and Aziraphale rushed to fill the silence. “Apparently there are some, um, rumors, uh, about, er, about us. Because of the... disagreement we had.”

“You mean our big messy public fight last Saturday.”

“Er, yes.” Aziraphale rubbed at the where the missing ring used to be and finally tucked their hands behind their back in an effort to keep still. “Up until then I don’t think most of them had even seen you as uh, _you_. And then, there we were, er, it attracted attention.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Crowley pushed away from the pillar when Aziraphale just stared at them. “I can go-”

“No!” Aziraphale cleared their throat and said in a calmer tone. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

“Alright.” Crowley offered their hand, smiling a little when Aziraphale took it. “I was going to say, go back to doing the thing, if it’d make you feel better.”

“Oh. I, uh, no, well, whatever you’d prefer, Crowley, I just, I know you prefer to, you know, slip under the radios-”

“Radar.”

“-radar, right. I don’t want to you to be uncomfortable here.” There was a hint of pleading in their voice that they couldn’t hide as they watched Crowley’s face for any sign of what they were thinking.

Crowley looked up from where Aziraphale’s thumb was stroking little circles over the back of Crowley’s hand, though the former angel seemed unaware of the movement. “Doesn’t bother me. Not much point in hiding now, is there? Everyone knows we’re friends, so why waste energy trying?”

“Well, as long as you’re sure. I, uh, they do mean well, really, just you know how humans are sometimes,” Aziraphale said with a little laugh. “Awfully curious. Like to gossip about the silliest things.”

“Yeah. Nothing like us at all,” said Crowley dryly, smirking when Aziraphale gave them a look. “How ‘bout I do the thing for now, just so we can get things done before nightfall, alright?”

“That might be the only way,” Aziraphale conceded, giving Crowley’s hand a grateful squeeze before releasing them. “Thank you, for understanding.”

“Eh,” said Crowley, following Aziraphale back outside. Without constant interruptions it didn’t take the former demon very long to tell the reformed angel everything they could remember about the enchantment they’d impulsively laid over the building after buying it for them. They lingered on the west side of the building where they had cast the spell all those years ago, trying to dredge up the specifics of that night. “I know I’m forgetting things.”

“Well, I’ll just have to improvise too. It wouldn’t be exact anyway, with me casting it instead of you, and I’ll be laying it before the other spell instead of after, not that that should be too significant as these things go, but, oh bother,” said Aziraphale when the shop phone began ringing and with an apologetic look at Crowley, awe-stepped through the wall into the shop.

Aziraphale was just hanging up as Crowley sauntered inside via the door. “So, you were correct about Miss Tick, she just rang to tell me to bring her books when we go to Granny’s this Wednesday.”

“Ha, Eunice did say they’re a talkative lot. Second only to wizards, apparently.” Crowley leaned on Aziraphale’s desk and murmured, “That was a bit bold of you, angel, ‘stepping like that.”

Aziraphale flushed, making a face when they realized Crowley was teasing. “I knew you were doing the thing so it’s not like anyone could notice. Although, I suppose...”

The former angel’s words trailed off, that familiar far off look in their eye and Crowley waited for them to think through whatever it was that had grabbed their attention. When it progressed to longer than a minute they pulled off their glasses and slouched onto the couch, unsurprised when Aziraphale started mumbling and looking through their desk. They made a few hasty notes, turned to where Crowley had been and blinked, and Crowley smirked fondly when their angel gave them a sheepish look. “What’s up?”

“Oh, ah, I was just thinking about the archangels and I suppose the dukes of hell, and how they keep humans from seeing them doing that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, lucky bastards. Part of the reason I never let on about my little tricks. That’d’ve gone over well.”

“Well that got me thinking, you can do it and you’re neither so… Will you teach me? Can you?”

“I, wot? I… I’m not even sure how I do it, to be honest.”

“Well, boo,” said Aziraphale, giving Crowley a smile to show they weren’t really upset. “It was worth a try. It’s probably part of your, your essential Crowley-ness so, er, did you mean to vanish?” Aziraphale blinked when the couch shifted a little and they had to smile because with a little focus they could dimly sense Crowley sneaking closer through the bond. “I must warn you, I can sense you.”

:The bond’s stronger if we, er, touch, right? So, uh, hold out your hand?:

Aziraphale started to hear Crowley’s voice in their mind but nodded and did as asked. It was a strange moment of deja vu for the former angel to be again holding the hand of someone who wasn’t there. They smiled at where they could sense Crowley standing and asked, :What are we doing?:

Crowley’s hand tightened around Aziraphale’s at hearing their mental voice for the first time since the fall, and it took the former demon a moment to move past the bittersweet memories that it dredged up. :I’m not sure but hold on.: Crowley tried to split their concentration between making themself fully hidden, and on the bond they shared, unconsciously extending their outer aura toward Aziraphale.

Aziraphale felt the brush of Crowley’s outer aura against their senses and squeezed their eyes shut against the unexpected prick of tears, and reciprocated, gasping when the two mingled. It wasn’t nearly as intimate as mingling inner auras, no more or less intimate than lacing their fingers together and holding on, but it was more than they had purposefully shared with anyone in a long time and it left both of them reeling.

Crowley’s concentration faltered and they popped back into sight, breaking both types of contact. They paced away and hastily wiped a wrist over their damp cheeks, afraid to look at Aziraphale. Afraid to see annoyance, or disgust, or worst of all, pity in the former angel’s eyes at their overreaction to such mild, meaningless contact. “Er, sorry, it’s, um, been a while…”

“Yes, a very long time,” Aziraphale agreed hoarsely. “I’d almost forgotten.”

“Not big on close contact, demons.” Crowley risked a look then, relieved to not see any judgment or pity. If anything there was a wistfulness in the former angel’s expression that had the former demon impulsively offering, “If, uh, if it’s okay, we can try again? I think it will help. Can’t hurt, right?”

“Yes. Right.” Aziraphale cleared their throat and took a deep breath to steady themself before extending their hand and outer aura towards the former demon. “It’s as lovely as I remember,” murmured Aziraphale almost too lowly for Crowley to hear when they clasped hands and mingled outer auras again.

The serpent closed their eyes and hastily pulled upon their power again. They started with the easiest ‘making people not look’ thing, which was really a misnomer because it didn’t stop people from looking so much as projecting an image of seeming like something other than what was there, namely a person that didn’t look or sound like Crowley.

And Aziraphale, feeling Crowley do it through the bond and through their mingled outer auras, understood almost immediately and imitated them after a few moments’ contemplation. :It worked!:

:Ha! Let’s try the big one again.:

Once again Crowley vanished from Aziraphale’s sight and most of their other senses. Even with the added benefit of the bond and mingled auras, Aziraphale could not even sense what Crowley had done and the former angel shook their head. :I think that’s beyond me.:

:Doubt it, but let’s try what I was doing outside instead.: Crowley returned to Aziraphale’s senses and showed the former angel how they kept people from recognizing themself as well as Aziraphale and the Bentley, and while Aziraphale could sense some of what they were doing, and even emulate it to a small degree, they couldn’t extend their range beyond themself the way Crowley could.

“Ugh!” said Aziraphale in frustration after many failed attempts to hide Crowley. “I’m clearly missing something.”

“Practice,” Crowley answered, still holding Aziraphale’s hand, doing their best to hide their almost giddy bafflement. The former demon had expected them to withdraw from the contact once they’d understood the process, had waited and waited after each attempt, but the withdrawal never came. “I’ve had a lot more practice, angel. It wasn’t something I figured out overnight.”

“No, I know, and I am very grateful that you were even willing to try to teach me,” said Aziraphale, standing and clasping Crowley’s hand in both of theirs, trying to hide how happy the continued contact was making them. “Thank you for being so unfailingly generous-”

“Whatever,” said Crowley, giving Aziraphale a hug so brief the former angel didn’t have time to react to the embrace before Crowley was walking towards the door to the shop. “That’s given me an appetite, how about you? I could just murder a kebab.”

“That sounds delightful.” Aziraphale did their best to tone down the blissful bounce in their step as they followed Crowley, their outer auras still twined together, the former demon giving no indication that they wished to withdraw from the contact.

“Do you want me to hide us?” Crowley offered, slipping their glasses back on as they stepped out first, doing a quick scan of the area for anyone or thing that seemed out of place.

“No. We don’t have to hide anymore. It’s a rather nice feeling, to have people see you, to be able to tell people who you are,” Aziraphale admitted, giving Crowley a shy smile.

Crowley oh so casually rested their shoulder against Aziraphale’s as they closed and locked the door. “And what’s that?” the serpent asked, still watching the road.

“My best friend in the whole universe,” the reformed angel stated, beaming over their shoulder at the former demon. “My very generous, kind, clever, and extremely wily best friend.”

Crowley laughed, their cheeks going red. “Oh, shut up.”


	13. Weekend At Boffo's (Sunday cont.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant visit with a witch and a clandestine meeting with an ancient friend.

They arrived at Boffo’s Novelty and Joke Emporium just minutes before the early closing time. The door chime made a creepy creaking noise instead of the previous flatulent greeting and a different man popped out from somewhere, clearly ready to tell them the shop was closed, but he stopped upon seeing Aziraphale. “Oh, hello Mr. Fell. Mother’s down in the lab waiting for you.”

“Hello Jack. Didn’t expect to see you here.” Aziraphale gestured to Crowley, who was lurking behind the former angel’s left shoulder, smirking and looking around the shop. “This is my friend Crowley.”

Jack nodded back at Crowley and explained, “She had a project she couldn’t leave but that’s finished up now. I’ll just lock things up so as you’re not disturbed. Night.”

“Ah. Good night,” said Aziraphale, leading Crowley through the shop as Jack turned off the window displays then stepped out the front door and locked it behind himself.

“Jack?” Eunice called when they came down the stairs. She popped her head around the corner and gave them both a big grin. “Jack gone then?”

“He just left,” Aziraphale answered. “How are you doing, Eunice? A lot’s happened since my last visit.” They let out a sigh. “You were right about my old tricks not going over well.”

She grinned but patted the dejected former angel on the shoulder. “I did try to warn you. I’m doing pretty good myself, can’t complain. World didn’t end, that was nice,” she said dryly, waving them into the lab and gesturing for them to sit. “How about you?”

“Well, I was heckled off the stage mid-act by a very rude group of children. Oh, and my shop burned down, but then it didn’t,” Aziraphale answered, echoing her dry tone, making her laugh.

“Oh well, that’s all right, then. And you, dear?”

Crowley smirked, inwardly pleased to be included. “Well, I had to watch my best friend get heckled off stage by a mob of kids, that was pretty bad. I tried to warn ‘em, but nooo.”

Eunice chuckled. “Some mistakes just have to be lived to be learned. Pour the tea, Aziraphale, dear? I got us a cake. I thought we’d do this up nice and proper.” She cut the cake while Aziraphale poured out the tea. “I thought we’d enjoy a nice visit first if you don’t mind.”

“How lovely, of course I don’t mind,” said Aziraphale, setting the first cup down in front of Crowley, eyes questioning.

“I don’t mind,” Crowley answered and after just the tiniest hesitation, took off their glasses.

Eunice took the sight of Crowley’s eyes in stride, having of course had plenty of warning, and as the gesture of trust that it was, gave them the first slice of cake and a warm smile. “Great! We haven’t had an afternoon kibitz in ages.”

Aziraphale smiled at both of them. “I have missed them. Though, our purpose is three-fold today. I presume you would be the right person to talk to about arranging for the anti-spying spell to be put over Crowley’s flat and renewed in the same manner as it is over my shop?”

She took a sip of her tea and gave them both a long considering look. “You are correct. I had a feeling it would be needed after Crowley’s impromptu visit the other day, so I’ve already had a bit of a consult with a few of our colleagues,” she said, breaking into a grin. “You know what the spell requires-”

“We’ve already gathered most of it, aside from what is better harvested by Granny or Nanny.” Aziraphale conjured the notebook they’d used to catalog the spell components and set it on the table. “I’ve started preparing everything we gathered, though I’m not done yet. We’re currently storing them at Crowley’s, unless there’s somewhere better..?”

“Nah, that’s fine,” she said, eating her cake and paging through the book, nodding in approval. Her eyebrows winged upward in amazement and she stabbed her finger at one entry in particular. “How did you manage to get that much primordial obsidian?”

Aziraphale sipped their tea and slid a look at Crowley, who grinned. “You know where it comes from?”

“It’s uh, well, I mean I’ve heard _theories_ ,” she hedged, looking back and forth between the reformed angel and the former demon and realized she could get actual confirmation of what had previously just been speculation. “Holy water and hellfire?” They both nodded and something in their expressions had her asking, “But wouldn’t combining the two...” She made a vigorous and expansive gesture.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale answered smugly. “Quite an energetic reaction.”

“I take it the others already told you about what happened to us last Sunday?” Crowley asked, giving her a toothy grin when she nodded. “Some old friends decided to have a second go at executing us on Friday. Seems they didn’t know what happens when the two are combined. Ended up blowing themselves to bits.”

“Nothing permanent, that would have taken more than a miracle to pull off,” Aziraphale interjected when Eunice stared at them in amazement. “But if you go to the big preserve to the southwest, oh what is it called, anyway, there’s probably some we missed when we cleaned the area up.”

Eunice immediately went and fetched her smartphone and started tapping away at it. “Can you give me directions?” Crowley pulled their own phone out and Aziraphale finished their slice of cake while the witch and the serpent tried to pinpoint exactly where the confrontation had happened.

When they were satisfied Aziraphale brought up the other reason they wanted to talk with her. “Eunice, have you ever come across someone who’s been, er, ‘chosen’?”

She scowled and nodded, her expression thunderous. “I have, and if I ever get my hands on them’s who did it,” she growled, cutting herself another slice of cake and faltering when understanding penetrated her fury. “Oh, oh no. One of your street kids?” she asked Aziraphale.

The fact that she never once looked at Crowley, clearly never even considered that they would or could have done something that vile, was like a balm over a burn the serpent didn’t even know they had. Crowley told her, “I saw a demon’s kiss on a kid today. It was pretty fresh, probably in the last couple months.”

“She goes by Erica; white, brown eyes, brown hair, underfed,” Aziraphale added. “She’s been showing up in the shop every once in a while for the past few months, but I didn’t know or I would have-”

“You couldn’t know, angel,” Crowley soothed, darting a look at Eunice before putting their hand over Aziraphale’s. “It’s meant to stay hidden from everyone. I, uh, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be able to spot them but, eh, since when do I do what I’m supposed to, right?”

Aziraphale gave them a grateful smile and held on to their hand, unconsciously stroking their thumb across Crowley’s knuckles. “That is a slight solace. Is there anything you know of that we can do?” the reformed angel asked Eunice.

“Could you have done anything before?” she asked both of them, mentally filing away the sweet hesitancy of their clasped hands for later.

“As I was, as we were, no. As we are now, we don’t know.” Aziraphale gave a helpless shrug. “I think she would have to believe very strongly in us as, as-”

“Supernatural entities,” supplied Crowley.

“Ha, yes. But I don’t know how we go about convincing her of that without terrifying her or making her think we’re mad as hatters.”

“I don’t rightly know what we can do, if anything, but I’ll talk with the others and see if they know anything. Sometimes, the most you can do is pick up the pieces,” she said gently.

Aziraphale patted Eunice’s hand gratefully. “I know, but I fervently hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Me too,” murmured Crowley, stiffening when the phone in their pocket buzzed at an incoming text. _No one but Aziraphale should have this number._

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s jolt of reaction through the bond and their still mingled outer auras and the former angel was unable to hide their concern when Crowley released their hand to pull out the phone as it buzzed a second time. They and Eunice both watched as Crowley read the two texts. “What is it?”

“It’s, ah, it’s Cerium, one of my old friends,” the former demon answered, shaking their head and reading the texts again. “Actual friend,” they clarified for Eunice, who was looking surprisingly protective. “They want to meet with me.”

“Could it be a trap?” worried Aziraphale.

Crowley smirked and shrugged. “I doubt it, but I suppose anything’s possible. They want to meet today, talk about some information they say they have for me, for _us,_ but uh, it’s probably best if I go alone-”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Crowley rolled their eyes at Aziraphale’s reaction. “Angel, really, it’s not that big of a deal-”

“I can’t lose you,” Aziraphale blurted, embarrassed to have tears welling in their eyes. “I’m sorry-” they said, pushing up from their seat to excuse themself only to have Crowley catch them in a hug. “Sorry-”

“Shh,” Crowley murmured, letting out a heavy breath when Aziraphale relaxed into the hug and hugged them back. “Sorry. I should have explained better. I am 100% sure this is really Cerium. They used some of our coded language that I know you’re oh so fond of,” they teased, relaxing a little when their angel chuckled. “They want to meet not far from here, in a pub. Actually, uh, where you found me. It’s called Biers.”

“I know it,” spoke up Eunice, giving Aziraphale a reassuring smile. “Good people, they won’t let anyone hurt Crowley.” _Or they’ll be answering to me,_ the stony glint in her eyes promised.

“And I was going to have you watch with the compass,” Crowley added, conjuring up a black handkerchief, smiling when Aziraphale chuckled again and flicked it, returning it into their usual tartan. “See, proper magic, why in the world--” Even as they teased they laced their fingers with Aziraphale’s.

“It’s not nearly as much fun,” Aziraphale protested damply, dabbing at their eyes, clinging tightly to Crowley’s hand. “Well, usually. Being heckled by 11 year olds wasn’t particularly enjoyable.” When Crowley pulled their chair closer to Aziraphale’s and sat, the reformed angel sat as well. “I’m sorry, about… I think you were right, about me working myself a little too hard,” they said with an apologetic half smile.

“Maybe,” Crowley hedged. “I won’t go if you still think it’s too dangerous.”

“No. It makes sense for you to go.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It helps, that you’re not going very far. Too far for, uh, but with the bond and the compasses you’ll be well within range if something unexpected happens.” They gave Crowley another half smile, this one even more self-deprecating. “Hiding away won’t keep us any safer in the long run.”

“Speaking of… I meant to mention it earlier but, uh, when you found me with the compass? I was _hiding,_ but you found me in spite of it.” Crowley nodded at the surprise on Aziraphale’s face. “And while our bond probably did make a difference, I think it’s your spells that let you see more than you expected.” They leaned closer, eyes locked with Aziraphale’s pale golden ones, and murmured, “I _know_ you’re stronger than they wanted you to realize. I know I’m fine with you watching over me.”

Aziraphale blinked back more tears and caught them in a hug. “Stay safe,” they whispered and before they could overthink it, pressed a kiss to Crowley’s right temple and put a blessing over them. They hastily pulled away and wrung their hands together, watching Crowley through their lashes with more than a little trepidation at how the former demon would react.

Eunice smothered a smile to see Crowley sitting stunned, their hand twitching just a little, as though they wanted to touch the spot Aziraphale had kissed. “They’ll be fine, Aziraphale dear, don’t you worry.”

Crowley eventually cleared their throat and darted a look at Eunice, but she was busying herself with pouring herself more tea, expression bland as milk. “I, uh, yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll, uh, let you know when I get there, alright?”

Aziraphale nodded, pressing their hands to their eyes after Eunice got up to show Crowley out, sighing when they passed beyond the range of their auras and the connection was lost. They gave her a beseeching look when she came back. “I think I have been working myself too hard. Why did I do that? What was I thinking? It’s not like they need a blessing from me!”

“Thinking’s overrated sometimes,” Eunice said with a dismissive wave and let out a chuckle, splitting the last of the cake between their plates and changing the topic before Aziraphale could work themself up overly much. “So what’s this compass they mentioned?”

“Oh, uh.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s compass from their waistcoat pocket and momentarily considered activating it but instead offered it to Eunice. “You probably remember it, I spent a lot of time dithering over which ones to buy, though I don’t think I told you why.”

She took the compass. “I do remember but no, I don’t believe you did.” As she recalled Aziraphale had found one for themself in less than fifteen minutes, but the second one they had dithered over choosing, always reluctantly coming back to the black one with the winged serpent. She didn’t contradict Aziraphale however, saying instead, “There was a bronze one, with a phoenix?”

“Gryphon,” Aziraphale corrected absently. “I wanted something to allow Crowley and I to communicate without being spied on. I bespelled them with an enchantment of my own devising, a combination of scrying and location spells with a touch of sympathetic magic and such.” Aziraphale sighed and looked back down at the compass. “This is taking a rather long time-”

“It’s not nearly as close as that,” Eunice soothed, patting Aziraphale’s arm and passing the black compass back. “Eat your cake. So the sympathetic magic was to bind them to yourselves before exchanging them?” she asked as Aziraphale took a bite of cake. “But Crowley said you’ve a bond between you?” she asked lightly, as though the former demon had actually spoken of it to her, instead of her just picking it up in passing. “For a long time,” she guessed. “So why do you need the compasses?”

“We did, a very long time ago. And only recently do we again, but it’s not very strong yet.” Aziraphale looked up from the compass and Eunice rested her hand on their arm at the pain she could see in their eyes. “We forged our bond a great many years ago. And then it was… damaged, although not unspoken, not broken, which is what _they_ expected, what _they_ wanted to happen.”

It was clear enough to Eunice who _they_ were and it wasn’t a great leap of logic to surmise when the damage was done, from everything she’d heard from the other witches. “How terrible.”

“Yes. But we found each other again, and again, and it wasn’t the same, but we made the best of it when we could.” Aziraphale sighed and took another bite of cake. “Do you think I upset them? Putting a blessing over them? It’s really not like they need it-”

“There’s lots of things we don’t _need_ that we still appreciate, still _want_ ,” Eunice said mildly. “You clearly care very deeply for each other, nothing wrong with wanting to protect your friend when they’re haring off into the unknown. Seems Crowley is one to go haring off a little too often with too little thought.”

“Yes!” Aziraphale agreed, taking another bite of cake. “You would not believe what they did..!”

**∞**

Crowley sat in the Bentley for a good five minutes, fingers pressed to their right temple and to the blessing anchored there. It had been a very long time since they’d felt an angelic blessing and this-- wasn’t. It was far stronger than anything they could recall experiencing, wrapped around them like a down comforter, shielding them like scales. It even gave off a faint golden glow when Crowley examined it magically.

“What even are we?” Crowley asked the air, and finally drove off. When they parked a block away from Biers they pulled out Aziraphale’s compass and activated it, smothering a smile when they answered almost instantly. “Hey, I’m about to go inside.”

“Alright. I’ll be watching. Er, about the-”

“Thanks for the blessing, angel, talk to you soon.” Crowley clicked shut the compass and put it back in their pocket, smiling inwardly at the last image of Aziraphale’s worried face blossoming into a smile.

They took a second to settle themself before they got out of the car and sauntered towards the pub, senses on alert. The surrounding area was clear and Crowley hesitated at the door, remembering all too clearly the despair they’d felt the last time they’d been there, a grieving demon hiding in plain sight among the other non-humans who knew better than to pay too much attention.

With a final mental shake, Crowley opened the door and stepped inside, making a beeline for the bar and the barman who was probably a human, known as Igor. He grunted in acknowledgment of Crowley’s presence and finished serving a pair of sharp featured beings who smelled of brine and bitter northern winds before coming to the end of bar. “Didn’t expect you back.”

“Me neither,” Crowley said, letting their gaze wander over the few other patrons seated sparsely at the front tables, pulling out a small roll of bills and tapping it nervously on the ancient wooden bar before setting it near Igor’s large knobby hand. “My tab. Don’t know when I’ll be in next.”

“Appreciate it, but it’s been paid,” Igor said. He smirked at Crowley’s expression and waved to a small collection of charity boxes set up at the end of the bar. “Plenty who could use the help if you’re in a mood, but you’re good. Someone waiting for you in the back, booth 13.”

“Oh, er, sort it as you see fit,” said Crowley, tapping the bar again before giving Igor a wave and making their way towards the booths nestled in the dim back area of the long narrow building. It was dim on purpose of course, you didn’t get a booth in the back to be seen, especially as the booths had enchantments against that sort of thing. Booth 13 was in the darkest corner, but that wasn’t an issue for Crowley, who could just make out a small dark feminine figure sitting stonily with their back to the rest of the bar.

“Cerium. Been an age.” Crowley slid onto the opposite seat and the enchantment shifted, revealing the corporeal seeming Cerium had adopted many millennia earlier; skin so dark they could be carved from onyx, with pale eyes in an otherworldly face that could so easily unsettle humans and celestials alike. Watching Cerium turn archangels into quivering messes had been one of their favorite pastimes in times long past. Crowley couldn’t help but smile. “You’re looking well. Good to see you.”

“Crowley. I am well, thank you. You look...” Crowley waited, used to the elemental’s long thoughtful pauses, not so dissimilar to Aziraphale’s. “Different. But good. How is Aziraphale? We have been very concerned, for you and they.” Crowley knew the ‘we’ Cerium was referring to were the other elementals, who lived as one tight knit community, even across the different kinds. Cerium was one of their chosen leaders.

“Oh, well, Aziraphale’s different but good too,” Crowley answered, pulling out the compass and toying with it. “They’re, uh, they’re listening in, er-”

“An appropriate precaution,” nodded Cerium. “Perhaps they will join us, when next we meet.”

“Oh, er, will we be meeting again? You said it was important we meet, but why?”

Cerium stared unblinking at Crowley for an overly long moment. “You truly do not know?”

“Unfortunately, there’s a lot we don’t know. Burned our, er,” Crowley stopped, remembering that Cerium wasn’t great with understanding slang. Unlike Aziraphale, who liked to use it wrongly just to annoy them. “We got in big trouble so haven’t had any, uh, non-hostile contact with either side since then. And I didn’t want to drag you and everyone into trouble too. But, hey, anything you can share would be a big help.”

“Big trouble is quite an understatement,” said Cerium with a faint smile, but there was no humor in their tone. “The Head Librarian made us aware of the orders for your destruction. There is no precedent of destruction for rebellion, the opposite really, and we were unanimous in having our advocates file appeals upon both of your behalves, but they were dismissed by the Councils.” Crowley was shocked to see tears in Cerium’s eyes. “When word reached us we halted all work and withdrew to the elemental planes in protest… and to mourn. The Library has also remained closed since the orders were carried out. We are all on strike in protest of your unlawful and unjust executions.”

“Wait, but-”

“Ah, yes, you would not know that either. Officially, you and Aziraphale are dead, both successfully executed for your many redacted crimes, your names ordered stricken from all official records.”

“I, uh, no, we didn’t know about any of that,” Crowley admitted. “So how did you know we weren’t actually dead?”

“I was there in the stones when you were tried and sentenced. Halcyon was in the rafters as they sentenced Aziraphale. Hex observed both through means they did not try to explain to us.”

Crowley cringed. “Why? Why would you-”

“We could not let your unjust executions go unwitnessed. Though we could not speak to you, nor offer comfort, we hoped you would know you were not without friends… and would be avenged.”

It was Crowley’s turn to stare mutely at Cerium. “We’d have spared you that,” the former demon finally said around the lump in their throat. “That, uh, thanks, thank you. We’re grateful for the gesture.”

Cerium nodded. “And that is how we of neither heaven nor hell were there to witness you moving unscathed through what should have distributed your firmaments beyond recovery.”

“It, er, it was a trick,” Crowley blurted, laughing lowly when Cerium’s eyebrows winged upwards with polite curiosity. “Me and the angel, we switched places, switched bodies. I faced the fire, they had a bath. I, er, I dunno, just seemed important you know the truth.”

Cerium smiled then, with just a hint a mischief in their eye that the former demon liked to think the elemental had learned from them. They’d be flustered to realize that Cerium would agree with their assessment. “Thank you Crowley, I appreciate what a clever trick that was. It changes nothing, of course. Your actions, and theirs, have caused… ripples, that are still moving things in small, and not so small, ways. There is continued uneasiness in the ethereal and abyssal planes that will not be quick to fade.” Cerium leaned forward, that mischievous spark in their eye flaring. “There are fearful whispers, stories that have grown in the tellings… Of the demon who laughed at holy water blessed by an archangel. Of the angel who breathed hellfire in the hallowed halls of heaven. If they could do _that_ , what else might they do?”

Crowley, who had after all been tasked with raising the anti-christ into a charismatic leader, knew propaganda when they heard it. “Oh.” Crowley shook their head, shocked. “Well, if it keeps them out of our hair, I suppose I can’t really complain.” _It was my idea after all. Fuck._

Cerium leaned back with a serene smile. “Indeed. We felt it best that you were made aware.”

“Uh, thanks,” Crowley said, rubbing a hand over their face. “Do, er, is there anything else?”

“Yes. Not that this is your concern any longer but heaven and hell are being… besieged. By Things from the dungeon dimensions.”

“What? Heaven too?”

Cerium nodded. “So far they have only tested the edges, but they grow bolder with each passing week. We warned the Councils that they should not be ignored, as they only grow stronger the longer they continue their incursions unchecked, but we were again dismissed out of hand.”

“Wait, weeks? How long-”

“Since the solstice.”

“They’re not attacking the elemental planes, are they?” Crowley worried. “We can help you if they are.”

Cerium blinked in surprise at the offer. “Thank you for your concern, but no, there has been no sign of rifts or attacks. They, as you know, feed off of magic, of which there is little in the elemental planes.”

“Right, right, which is why the edge of hell was so empty, the Things were treating it like an all you can eat buffet.” Crowley swore under their breath but shrugged. “Well, nothing we can do about that, they’re not going to listen until its too late. Heaven’ll just have to break out the flaming swords and-- what?”

Cerium was shaking their head as they scooted awkwardly out of the booth. “I fear it is time for me to depart. Thank you for meeting with me and listening to what I had to say. I hope we will meet again soon.” Cerium offered their hand to Crowley and leaned close to murmur, “It was not the weapon that was powerful, it was the being who wielded it.” They patted Crowley’s hand and walked silently into the darkness behind the booth and were gone.

Crowley quickly activated the compass, and smirked to see Aziraphale’s thoughtful expression. :Can you hear me?:

“Oh!” Aziraphale gave Eunice a sheepish smile before replying, :Yes, quite clearly. That was... very interesting.:

:That’s putting it mildly. They’ve turned us into, into bogeymen!:

:Good,: said Aziraphale with a self-satisfied smile. :I’d hoped they’d think that way of us. We could use some breathing room of our own.:

:It never works that way,: Crowley complained, looking away from the mirror when Igor appeared out of nowhere with a partially full glass of amber liquid. “Eh?”

“Your visitor ordered it, said you’d need it after they left,” Igor explained before disappearing back into the front of the pub.

“Heh, not wrong,” Crowley grunted and took a sip. :I’ll be back in a bit, okay? Have to make sure Cerium’s clear before I leave so it’s not too obvious why we were here. We can discuss this all later.:

:Alright. Mind how you go.: Aziraphale smirked when Crowley raised the glass to them in a toast and closed the compass, returning it to their pocket with a sigh. “So sorry for the delay.”

“You’re fine, dear,” Eunice said, “Let’s head up so I can open the door when they get back, shall we?”

“May as well.” Aziraphale rode with Eunice in the service elevator, casting a small blessing of safety over the seemingly ancient device as it creaked and groaned its way upward. “You know, the last time we chatted, you told me you were going to begin selling things over the internet. How is that going?”

They passed the time discussing the ups and down of being an online shop and Aziraphale listened attentively, not that the reformed angel would ever try to sell _books_ online, but _buying_ things without ever having to deal with another person had a certain appeal. Of course, that all depended on if their ‘bad luck’ with electronics was really gone.

Crowley didn’t linger in Biers overly long and was soon back at Boffo’s, being let back in by Eunice. She was still telling Aziraphale all about how well their mystical jewelery and accessory business was doing online since they’d added pictures of Eunice in costume to the website. “Of course most of ‘em haven’t a clue about anything, but if they want to buy something ‘magickal’ from a ‘real witch’, who am I to tell ‘em no?”

“Not a fool, clearly,” Aziraphale agreed, giving Crowley a nervous smile as the former angel extended their outer aura in unspoken invitation.

Crowley reciprocated, offering their hand as their auras intertwined. “So, worked alright, yeah?” Crowley asked when Aziraphale accepted.

“Oh yes, everything was quite clear.” They turned to Eunice and gave her a smile. “I think we’ve taken up enough of your time. Where would you like to be, er..?”

“Where’s most comfortable to be utterly pished for the night?”

Eunice cackled and gestured towards the storage area. “I’ve got a nice couch I use when I’ve got a project that needs overnight tending, that’ll do. A nice book and a cuppa and I’ll be good for the night, don’t you worry,” she said, patting Aziraphale on the shoulder when they frowned in concern. “I’ll show you.”

They followed her back through the stock room into a small walled off area that had been set up as a cozy little apartment just big enough for one. She flicked on the already filled kettle and grinning at them. “Alright, lay it on me.”

Crowley grinned as Aziraphale chuckled and summoned up one of the little wooden cups, already filled with a dose of Nanny Ogg’s special scumble. “Joking aside, are you sure, Eunice?”

“Aziraphale, dear, I’ve been believing in you since before I even met you,” she said, grinning when the reformed angel blushed. “I made my choice when I helped cast a curse on a demon’s car and a blessing on an angel’s bookshop. This is just icing on the cake!” She held out her hand and Aziraphale carefully set the cup in it. “Bottom’s up!” She tossed it back and let out a choked cough. “Woo!”

“Now you’ve got to burn the cup,” Crowley reminded her.

“Right.” She found an ashtray and a lighter, face going blank as the flame shot up. When she came back to herself she sat on the couch with a thump, blinking owlishly at them. “Wowee.”

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked as they busied themself making the tea Eunice had prepared earlier in the day.

“Ooh, yeah, huh, those compasses were spot on weren’t they,” she laughed. “I didn’t believe her about them either! Sorry Agnes!” She cackled and grinned at the two of them when they couldn’t help but laugh.

“She probably knows,” Crowley chuckled. “She apparently knows everything else.”

“Prob’ly,” Eunice agreed, waving for Aziraphale to set the steaming cup on a nearby table. “I’m fine, love, quit fussing.” She waved again and Aziraphale bent down and accepted a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Aww, look at your widdle wingies!”

At Crowley’s quizzical look Aziraphale said, “Oh, right, yes, the protection spell we cast, I tied it all together so that it is also part of the Arrangement.”

“Don’t be a stranger!” She waved at Crowley too, who feigned reluctance but was grinning as she gave them a smacking kiss on their left cheek. “Lock the door on your way out, that’s a dear.”

“Will do. I’ll call and check on you tomorrow,” Aziraphale promised, reluctantly leading Crowley outside and making sure the door was locked. “She’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Crowley gave them a look and bumped their shoulder against Aziraphale’s, knowing they were trying to convince themself more than anything, but Crowley took a moment to extend their senses back into the shop. “She’s fine. She’s already on the phone with Nanny Ogg.”

Aziraphale frowned but let out a chuckle when they confirmed Crowley’s statement. “Where to now?” they asked, falling in step with the former demon as they moved towards the Bentley.

“Eh, I’ve had enough of other people for the day. And we need to discuss what Cerium told us.” Crowley said, waiting until Aziraphale was in the car before slipping into their seat. “S’alright if we head h- to the flat?

 _Home_. Aziraphale found as much as they had tried to resist, Crowley’s flat was indeed starting to feel like home. “The flat, yes. I think I’ve had enough of other people too.”


	14. Early Morning Meteor Showers (Monday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night talks and secret confessions.

On the short drive back to the flat, Aziraphale found themself yawning and blinking their eyes in an effort to keep them open. “I’m terribly sorry,” Aziraphale apologized, covering yet another yawn as they followed Crowley into the flat, both of them stepping around Aziraphale’s trap without a second thought. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“You worked yourself too hard,” Crowley scolded. “The only remedy for that is rest.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said around another wide yawn, clearly annoyed. “I never used to get this tired!”

“That’s not true,” Crowley said, wandering into the kitchen and hanging their jacket over a chair. A quick wave of their hand had the dishes cleaned and back in their proper places and they considered the partially full bottle of wine but instead began nervously puttering around the stove. “I can recall a few times you’ve worked yourself to exhaustion--”

“I didn’t need sleep though! A little time in--,” another yawn, “oh. Yes, I suppose that is a significant change.” Aziraphale sighed and sat at the kitchen table, resting their chin on their hands, too tired to wonder what Crowley was doing. “A little time on holy ground usually fixed it. But that’s not an option anymore.”

“I could spritz you like one of the plants,” Crowley offered, chuckling when Aziraphale speared them with a look. “It might work.”

“No. I am not a, a _shrubbery_.”

“Ni?” A sigh at the blank stare they got response. “Suit yourself.” They set a mug down at Aziraphale’s elbow and slouched into the chair kitty-corner to theirs. “I suggest you drink that and then try to sleep.”

Aziraphale looked down at the mug and did a double-take. “That’s… you made me _cocoa_?”

“Psh, yeah, ‘snot like it’s hard, see, you definitely need sleep. It’s just instant cocoa, angel, nothing worth crying over! Unless I burned it, did I burn it? I don’t think I burned it-”

“You didn’t burn it,” Aziraphale said tearily, pulling out the handkerchief to dab at their eyes again, taking a sip of the cocoa. “It’s perfect.”

Crowley lurched up from their chair, in desperate need of escape, and gestured towards the bedroom. “You take the bed, alright? Sleeping on a couch isn’t nearly as restful.” Crowley knew they would be spilling their guts and ruining things in seconds if they kept looking into those sad tired beautiful eyes.

“Oh, but-”

“I’m not tired in the least, probably watch some TV, catch up on my shows,” Crowley said, waving over their shoulder and fleeing into the office, courteously withdrawing their aura to allow Aziraphale to sleep undisturbed. “Night, angel.”

“Goodnight, Crowley.” Aziraphale let out a little sigh as the TV clicked on, and finished their cocoa before shuffling into the bedroom. They blinked away more tears to find their nightclothes folded neatly at the end of the bed. Changing into the clothes seemed to take an eternity but finally they clicked off the light and slid between the sheets, sighing blissfully when they discovered the heated blanket was on. A little shifting around found Aziraphale curled on their side, one of Crowley’s pillows hugged to their chest, fast asleep.

It was the wee hours of Monday morning when Aziraphale drifted into wakefulness, feeling better but unsettled, more than a little embarrassed by their emotional outbursts. It seemed foolish to get dressed for the day so early in the morning, so they put on their slippers and pulled the robe around their shoulders before slipping out of the room, listening intently in the dimly lit hallway. There weren’t any sounds aside from what little filtered in from outside, and they went looking for Crowley using the bond to guide them, everything feeling surreal in the dark silence. They hesitated outside the partially closed door to the sun room, but there was only the faintest sound of Crowley’s even breathing and they peeked inside.

Crowley was on the chaise lounge Aziraphale had conjured, seemingly asleep. Aziraphale felt a pang of guilt and began to ease away from the door when Crowley murmured, “Hey, angel.” They sat up and turned towards them as Aziraphale hesitantly pushed open the door. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s a very comfortable bed.” Aziraphale fussed with the lapels of the robe. “You were right, about me overworking myself. I’m sorry, about, er, all that. And that I displaced you from your own bed. I’m awake now if you need to rest.”

“Nah, nothing to be sorry about.” Crowley shook their head and gestured at the windows. “Been watching a meteor shower.” They watched Aziraphale, hovering by the doorway, clearly torn about what to do and murmured, “Been a while since we last went stargazing, you and I.”

Aziraphale stilled, looking at the strangely dark starry sky over what should have been the well lit London skyline and realized that the windows were looking out over somewhere else. A shooting star streaked across the darkness. “Not since Haley’s comet in...”

“1986 I think. Couldn’t even see it.” Crowley moved over, making room on the lounge in silent invitation. “Real disappointment.”

“We stayed out all night. The morning was rather drizzly as I recall.” Aziraphale padded over and sat down decorously, facing the window.

“Until it miraculously cleared up. Glorious sunrise.” Crowley put their elbow on the arm of the lounge, resting their chin on their fist, watching the windows and the shooting stars. “I appreciated the gesture. Oh that’s a nice one.”

“Well, it seemed a shame to end the outing on a such a dismal note.” Aziraphale gasped at a particularly showy shooting star. “Ooh! So what are we watching? And where?”

“The Perseid Meteor showers,” Crowley answered. “From Granny’s garden.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale dared to look at Crowley, feeling odd and strangely brave in the darkness. “It was very n- lovely, er, today, yesterday. I hope my unfortunate outbursts won’t dissuade you from, from, I mean, if you also, well, I don’t want to presume-”

“I liked it too,” Crowley confessed, still watching the windows but extending their outer aura towards Aziraphale, smiling when the reformed angel quickly reciprocated and their outer auras twined back together. “We didn’t figure out this was even possible until we’d gone back to heaven, remember?”

“We didn’t figure out a great many things until we went back to earth after being sent back to heaven,” Aziraphale agreed. “Certainly safer to keep it all contained when we were upstairs. I’m sure someone would have noticed, and possibly even remembered that we weren’t supposed to work together, let alone be friends.”

“Oh yeah.” They cleared their throat and said, “Speaking of, er, friends… we should talk about the, the stuff with the Cerium and the others.”

Aziraphale nodded at the underlying emotion in the former demon’s voice. “I didn’t expect that sort of response either. I mean, I do consider them friends, but there was the need for distance as well, so my, er, reputation I suppose, didn’t make things harder for them.”

“Yeah. Same. You, eh, heard the bit about being avenged, yeah?”

“I did,” Aziraphale nodded. “I did and it made me wonder, if they might be convinced to join our side.” They gestured at the windows. “They’ve more in common with terrestrial beings than celestial ones.”

“Not much magic, for one. Which is why they’re not being invaded by Things.”

“Unfortunately that means they have less in common with the two of us, being of angel stock.”

“I don’t think that’s actually a thing.” Crowley met Aziraphale’s stare and shrugged. “Celestial doesn’t automatically mean angelic, or demonic, you know that. That’s just what we did for the sides we were on, not what we _are._ Or we wouldn’t’ve been able to do each other’s assignments.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’m just so used to thinking in black and white, I’ve forgotten that it’s in actuality a spectrum.” Aziraphale looked down at their hands, remembering how even after being discorporated, they had still projected the human seeming that had become so ubiquitous among the hosts. Hadn’t even realized until they’d been yelled at for being discorporated. Aziraphale wondered if most of them even remembered that those forms weren’t their original projections.

They both returned to watching the meteor shower for a while before Crowley asked, “Have you remembered anything more?”

“Some. At the oddest moments sometimes. I saw an article on some scientists making bread from ancient yeast they’d found and when I saw the picture I could just remember it, drinking the local beer and eating bread with honey. I could hear the people around us enjoying a nice afternoon-” Aziraphale broke off, shaking their head. “Mostly little moments, mostly good memories.” _Mostly with you._

“I’ve remembered more, too. From, um, from before the Garden.”

Aziraphale turned to them in surprise. “Really?”

Crowley nodded, wondering how much they should say. Wondering how Aziraphale would react to the conclusions they had come to. “Gabriel and that lot, they liked to talk shit behind our backs. One of the names they liked to use was _bastard_ , in the parentage sense, ille-whatsit-”

“Illegitimate?”

“Yeah, like some of us weren’t _real_ angels. Mostly about me and the others who ended up kicked out.” Crowley’s lips twisted in a bitter smirk but they kept their eyes on the windows. “I think we were different somehow. Maybe from different beliefs that got mushed together by humans.”

There was a drawn out silence from Aziraphale, who finally admitted, “Yes. I believe you’re correct.” They cleared their throat and added, “Me too. I think I was an outsider too.”

Crowley felt a surge of relief and turned to rest their back against the arm of the chaise lounge, to better see Aziraphale’s face. “Yeah? When did you sort it out?”

“It wasn’t something I figured out all at once,” the reformed angel hedged, finally looking back at Crowley, relieved to find only curiosity in their expression. “Do you remember the obelisk in the Library?” A nod. “It, er, it told me things. And I found some things on my own. And there was that book.” Aziraphale rubbed their hands nervously over the robe. “I’m sorry I never told you. It seemed safer if you didn’t know. And then it didn’t seem important anymore.”

“Because we were on opposing sides, _black and white_.” Crowley could read something in Aziraphale’s eyes. “We _did_ know one another, didn’t we. _Before_.”

Aziraphale turned back to the windows and nodded. “There was a fight, for control of Eden. It seems I helped you evade capture.” Haltingly they explained how they had found the orders for Crowley’s destruction, reprieve and subsequent smiting, and how Crowley’s previous name had been completely erased from heaven’s documentation. The plot they had unknowingly foiled, to destroy Crowley in spite of their reprieve by framing them for the Garden failing.

“You’re leaving things out.” Crowley canted their head when Aziraphale looked away guiltily. “Why _d_ _id_ they give me reprieve? Not something they’d do out of the goodness of their heartsss.” Crowley sucked in a breath when understanding hit. “Oh, of course. That’s why they called me a coward. Because I ran and you…” They put their hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, gently turning them so they were face to face. “You gave yourself up to save me, didn’t you.”

Aziraphale gave them a sad smile. “As far as I could piece together, yes.”

“So they, ha ha, _cut me down to size_ , for whatever I did, from dragon to serpent, and took my memories and most of my powers,” said Crowley thoughtfully, lacing their fingers with Aziraphale’s. “So how’d they punish you? Can’t have been any better.”

Aziraphale nodded. “They took my name, and my powers, and my memories of everything _before_.”

“Hmm. ...And?”

“And... then they sent me to the Garden with you, to-” Aziraphale closed their eyes against the sting of tears. “To either become your enemy and kill you myself or become your friend again, and watch you die.”

Crowley’s brows arched upward. “Wow, that _i_ _s_ nasty, even for them.” When Aziraphale gave them a frown for their blasé response, Crowley shifted closer to remind them, “We’ve outsmarted them at every turn. We’ve found each other every time they’ve tried to keep us apart. That’s what I put my faith into. You and me. Always.”

“Always.” Aziraphale shook their head, and looked away. “I don’t deserve you. Not after everything I’ve done.”

“Oh, I dunno,” said Crowley, brave under cover of darkness, rested their hand on Aziraphale’s hunched shoulder, holding them tightly when they turned and hugged Crowley back. “Couldn’t’ve been easy, putting up with me haring off all the time. Leaving you to face everything alone.” Crowley cleared the lump from their throat and teased, “I’d like to think we’ve earned each other by now.”

“ _Earned each other._ I like that,” Aziraphale murmured with a faint smile, resting their forehead on Crowley’s shoulder. “I believe in you too. In us. I’m sorry I ever made you think otherwise.”

“I know. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“I do. Maybe one day I won’t.” There was something about being in the darkness, surrounded by the magical plants and the comfort of Crowley’s embrace that made Aziraphale ease away and ask, “Crowley… would you, can I, can we groom each other’s wings?”

Surrounded by lush happy plants that reminded them of the Garden, their outer aura again entwined with Aziraphale’s, Crowley unfurled their wings and dared to whisper, “As you wish.” It wasn’t like their angel could really know the significance of _those_ words. Aziraphale didn’t watch movies or TV; they barely even listened to the radio. The relic of a computer they had was basically an electric abacus and had taken special orders from heaven to be purchased. No, Aziraphale wouldn’t ever know there was anything more to it.

Aziraphale’s heart leapt at those words but they knew the darkness would hide their flustered reaction as they too unfurled their wings. They mentally upbraided themself for reading anything into their best friend’s usage of that phrase, for _wanting_ to read something into it. It was inconceivable that Crowley could recognize it for what it was, after all, they’d said themself that they weren’t one for reading books. And if they did read, it would probably be some ridiculous spy thriller with lots of explosions. No, Crowley didn’t know.

They leaned into one another, tending each other’s feathers, neither one noticing as two shooting stars flared across the sky and converged into a single bright point over the horizon.


	15. Warlock's Big Plan (Monday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock had a plan, a big plan: to find the friends who had cared for him since before memory.

It was 3 AM when Warlock’s alarm began quietly chiming and he woke with a grin on his face. It was finally time to enact the big plan he’d been working on with Oleg and Penny for _ages_. The first brilliant idea of it had come to him in a dream the night after his dad had told him that Mr. Cortese and Mr. Harrison would be departing for good before his 11th birthday party.

The next night had brought the other kind of dream, the ones he knew could come true if things went right, or wrong. It had shown him that the nasty stinky person asking about voices in his head was trouble and that no matter how he answered it would be very bad for him and his parents and all the other people there. He’d been very glad to wake up back in his bed on Sunday morning as his dream had told him would happen, his parents quietly pretending to not be freaked out by what they remembered happening the day before.

Warlock put the memory out of his head and focused on enacting the first part of the big plan; losing the security detail sitting out in the van in front of Oleg’s parent’s house. Getting away from the _goons_ (a word both Nanny and Mr. Harrison had used to describe the security men,) had always seemed like the hardest step, but Penny had pointed out that when Warlock stayed over at a friend’s house, there were a lot fewer goons. Penny’s house was on the whole other side of the city from where Warlock needed to go, so they had wheedled and whined and finally convinced Oleg’s parents to host a sleepover before school started. They’d tried for a big one, easier to hide Warlock’s absence with more people, but it ended up being just the three of them, so they’d figured out a way to make it work.

Warlock quickly tiptoed over to the room Penny was sleeping in and they had to smother their giggles as they quietly switched places and then tried to go back to sleep. They had discovered quite by accident that Penny looked enough like Warlock to fool the goons and now the whole plan hinged on it.

When dawn came, his phone again chiming him awake, he quickly dressed up in the clothes Penny had left out, which didn’t look much different from his own except with a little more pink, and pulled on the pink sequined cap that said ‘Princess’ and the big sparkly sunglasses Penny had taken to wearing nonstop for the last two weeks. He had to wear his own shoes, but he’d picked out the most boring old pair that he had.

Part two of the plan was building a decoy Penny out of pillows and plugging Penny’s phone attached to a speaker, with a looping playlist of Penny talking on the phone with her big sister Nichole who had just left home to start college. That was Penny’s alibi for not being outside playing with ‘Warlock’ and Oleg.

When that was done they all slipped down to the den, where Warlock and Penny made sure to stay out of sight by hiding inside the pillow fort they’d built the night before. As pre-arranged with Oleg’s parents, they got to eat breakfast inside the pillow fort, where the adults could hear them chattering away, but couldn’t see them.

Oleg’s dad worked from home, so there was no baby-sitter to worry about, and once Oleg’s mom left for work, part three of the big plan went into action. Oleg went to his dad’s office and asked to go play outside, and once permission was given they all bolted for the back yard, where they knew there were no goons and no way for the goons to see what they were doing.

Part four was the easiest yet, because Oleg had unlocked the back gate days earlier and had wedged it shut with a half brick he’d found in the gardening shed. From the gardening shed they also retrieved the secondary disguise kit they’d assembled inside one of Oleg’s very beaten up old backpacks.

Now Warlock was starting to feel nervous, because part five was entirely up to Oleg and Penny. Warlock waited by the back gate as his friends ran around the side of the house and pretended to try to sneak out the gate there, drawing the attention of the goons, who quickly went to intercept ‘Warlock’ and Oleg, who had a loud but brief disagreement before going to sit in the front garden and sulk.

And with all the goons hopefully distracted, Warlock slipped out the back gate and wedged it back shut, and quickly switched the hat and sunglasses for a burgundy hoodie emblazoned with two golden overlapping uppercase _U’s_ on the front left. It had taken trading two of his birthday gift cards with Tiffany’s older sister Rhianna to get it from her, but he’d known the minute he’d seen it that he had to have it.

Warlock pulled on another set of sunglasses, a pair Nanny Ashtoreth had lost in the garden one memorable evening while bickering with Brother Francis over the flock of crows that had decided to play havoc with the garden and Francis’ little friends. Warlock could vividly remember watching from his window, long past his bedtime as Nanny feigned annoyance with Francis but had finally nodded in agreement with his pleas. She’d walked into the middle of the flock and had held out her arms, and like magic all the crows had taken wing, coming to swoop and perch on her until she couldn’t be seen for their glossy black feathers whirling around her like a hurricane, before as one they looped skyward and flew away. Hair in tangles, glasses lost in the storm of feathers, Nanny and Francis had both started laughing at her rumpled appearance before linking arms and retreating into the house. Warlock had found the sunglasses wedged under the hedge a few days later, as well as a big black feather that almost glowed with iridescence, both of which he had quickly stashed away in his cache of important things, along with the compass Brother Francis had given him.

Smiling happily at the memory, hopes high, Warlock swung the backpack over his shoulder and pulled out his phone, following the prompts to the nearest bus stop that would get him to a certain bookshop in Soho.


	16. Too Sober (Monday)

Aziraphale and Crowley whiled away the night in quiet togetherness, and eventually the darkness faded into dawn. With the light they returned to mundane matters, heading to the shop with both of them in a thoughtful mood as they considered what they had learned from Cerium the afternoon before. Aziraphale puttered about making tea while Crowley lounged on the couch, twirling their glasses around by one arm.

“Angel?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale came over with two mugs, handing one to Crowley before taking a seat in their chair. “What’s on your mind?”

“Did you hear what Cerium said at the end?” Crowley took a sip of tea, watching them over the rim of the mug. “About the sword?”

Aziraphale clasped their mug with both hands, staring down into the liquid. “I did. I’ve been thinking about it too. And I suppose it makes sense; a tool’s only as good as the person who uses it.” Aziraphale put on a bright smile and said, “I did know how to use the sword rather well, if I do say so myself. Still do, I think.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Crowley protested, sitting up and resting their elbows against their knees, staring into Aziraphale‘s face, recognizing the nervousness beneath the boast. “I think they meant that what let you beat the Things wasn’t the sword but you yourself.”

Aziraphale shook their head in immediate denial. “I find that very hard to believe. You’ve seen the rank and file upstairs, flaming sword is pretty much standard issue.”

“Didn’t used to be.” Crowley leaned back, nodding slowly. “In fact, before the Garden, I don’t recall ever seeing an angel with a sword. Wings and wheels and eyes and animals heads aplenty, but swords, no. On the whole, rather sparse on swords.”

“I, er, I mean, yes, that… But what does that mean? That the sword-”

“Was yours. _Yours_ yours, from _before_. Along with the crown and the scales.”

Aziraphale rubbed at the bridge of their nose, momentarily considering turning their cold tea into something with a very different chemical composition before letting out a bewildered sigh. “I’m too sober to this.”

“Alright.” Crowley finished their tea and stood, holding out their hand to their angel, who looked lost and miserable, hunched over their tea as though looking for warmth. “It’s a bit early for that, but the café should be open by now, yeah? You’ll feel better with some breakfast. You’re still not fully recovered from yesterday.”

Aziraphale set down their mug and accepted Crowley’s hand. “I think you might be right.”


	17. Warlock's Big Plan Hits A Big Snag (Monday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was such a good plan too. Until the bad goons showed up and ruined everything. But there was help from an unexpected quarter, and then yet more help. 
> 
> [TW: there is an attempt at kidnapping that is thwarted, creepy Mr. Finks returns]

Warlock did his best to look as bored as the other commuters did, but it was so hard with his stomach full of butterflies of worry and hope and excitement. He’d spent hours online, looking through websites, hoping to find even a hint of anyone named Nanny Ashtoreth, Brother Francis, Mr. Harrison or Mr. Cortese. When he’d asked his parents for their full names, they hadn’t been able to find them, in the case of the caretakers, and hadn’t been able to read their handwriting, in the case of the tutors.

He’d been a little more lucky with the address where he used to mail letters to Nanny and Francis. It belonged to an odd little bookshop with zero online presence at all aside from occasional annoyed reviews from customers complaining about iffy service, being cash only, and having extremely odd hours.

But those had been offset by a few glowing reviews that talked mostly about the proprietor, which no one seemed to agree on the name of, or their gender. That had really raised Warlock’s hopes, because for all Warlock had been told to call them _mister_ , Mr. Harrison had almost always used ‘they’ when talking about their colleague, and Mr. Cortese had always done the same.

And Warlock was pretty super sure that Mr. Harrison was also Nanny Ashtoreth. There was a phone number Warlock remembered, belonging to Nanny Ashtoreth, written down at the top of the emergency numbers list left next to every phone and given to every employee. Something had made him memorize it, but Warlock had been too afraid to call it. More so, it felt wrong to call it, because it was for emergencies and while he had missed his friends terribly, it hadn’t been an actual _emergency_. Beside the number, there hadn’t been anything even hinting about where they might be found, so the address was Warlock’s main hope. Because, in Warlock’s memory, where you found one, you always found the other.

His phone warned him that he had reached his stop and he got off with a few other passengers, following the directions towards the bookshop. The sidewalk felt really crowded and busy and a little bit overwhelming but then the shop was there, in real life when he’d only seen it online before and it took all his willpower to not run across the street and bang on the door. He walked slow, lingering as he looked in the windows and Warlock’s heart dropped to find the lights off and the door locked, but it perked up a little to see the ‘be back soon!’ sign hung in the door’s window.

“Hey.” Warlock jumped, clinging to his phone and stared at the slightly older girl who had popped up out of nowhere. “What’re you doing?”

“I, uh, I’m looking for my friends,” said Warlock, trying to sound older, trying to sound calm, but after everything, he didn’t think he was succeeding very well. “I, um, I think they know someone who works here?”

The girl gave him a disbelieving look, taking in the newish oversized hoodie, the stylishly faded jeans, the old but very expensive sneakers. She also looked at the glow of colors that most people had that she could see if she looked just right. She’d learned not to judge based on the obvious things, because people had to run with what they had and even ‘watching the glow’ as she called it, didn’t tell her everything. But sometimes people did something dumb and ended up in trouble, and this kid very much felt like dumb heading towards trouble. “You shouldn’t be around here alone.”

Her patronizing tone cleared some of Warlock’s trepidation and he threw his shoulders back with bravado, definitely trying to channel some of Mr. Harrison’s confidence. “Like you’re that much older than me,” he scorned. “If I shouldn’t be here, then neither should you.”

She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed and looked away, scanning the street to see if some likely parent was looking for their bratty kid. “Yeah,” she finally said, not spotting anyone. “I shouldn’t be here, but I ain’t got anywhere else to go, so, here I am.”

“Oh, er, oh.” Warlock wilted a little, looking away from her challenging stare. “Er, uh, do you, um, know,” he waved at the door. “The owner? A. Z. Fell?”

She shifted warily, looking around again, wondering if this was some kind of elaborate trap. Maybe he wasn’t actually as young as he looked, maybe he was an actor who’d been hired to, there-- she spotted a tall white man in a dark suit watching his phone who turned away when she stared at him a little too long. “Nah, I don’t know nothing,” she said, stepping down off the stoop and hurrying down the sidewalk to the west, away from where she’d seen Ms. Fell and her friend go.

A sudden sense of foreboding had Warlock shivering in his hoodie and bolting after her. “Wait!” he pleaded, running to catch up with her. “Something’s wrong,” he whispered, shoving his phone in his pocket and taking her hand, eyes darting around for a danger he could tell was coming but couldn’t tell from where.

“Yeah, some dumb rando brat won’t leave me alone,” she growled, trying to shake him off as she too looked around, knowing something bad was close by. “Thought you said you were fine out here alone,” she hissed, glaring at him.

“I lied,” he squeaked, jumping closer to her when a large white man in a dark suit suddenly stepped out of an alleyway. “Ah!”

“Fire!” Erica shrieked, and everyone on the block, still jumpy from the fire that somehow did but didn’t happen, tried to zero in on where the scream had come from. “Fire in the alley!” she screamed again, pointing right at the man, who swore and ducked back into the alley as adults began to move in her direction.

Erica and Warlock both began to back away from the alley, but big hands clamped onto their shoulders, stopping their backwards progress, and they both froze in recognition of the voice that spoke over their heads. “From the mouthes of babes. How blessed we are, to be saved from what might have become an _unholy_ fire.”

“Mr. Finks,” whispered Erica, sudden guilt gripping her, for thinking the kid had been trying to trap her when it was really all her own fault.

“You’re in jail,” Warlock quavered, struggling to get out of the elderly man’s surprisingly strong grip.

“You know you shouldn’t tell lies, children. You’ll behave now, won’t you?” They both cringed as his fingers dug into their shoulders painfully. “Come along.” Mr. Finks began slowly walking them away from the milling people, careful to keep calm, keeping to the sidewalks to not draw unwanted attention.

“The Almighty really does work in mysterious ways. How Heaven has smiled on us this day, to lead both of our lost lambs back to us,” he said when the watching man caught up with them. “Mr. Noble will catch up with us when he may.”

“Yes, Mr. Finks,” the goon said, almost walking into a small bald Chinese man who seemed to have popped up out of nowhere. He was sweeping the sidewalk, humming under his breath, seemingly oblivious to the near miss. The goon turned but found the sidewalk constricted on one side by stacked café tables and the other by palettes of boxes waiting to be loaded into the large delivery van that suddenly pulled up, blocking the road. Going back was not an option. “Hey, get out of the way!”

The sweeper turned then and smiled at them, seemingly not noticing the two terrified children in Mr. Finks’ grasp. “Right on time,” he said in Mandarin Chinese. He leaned on his broom in the middle of the clear path and waved a hand at the door, as though inviting them inside and continued in the same language, “Is it not written, _I can't be having with that kind of thing_? No, we certainly can’t be having with this kind of thing.”

The goon got redder and redder the longer he spoke. “Don’t you spout that gobble at me-”

Mr. Finks cleared his throat and the goon cut off whatever hateful thing he was going to say. “We don’t want any trouble, Mr. Banks.”

“Yes, sir. Pass ahead, sir,” the goon growled, glowering angrily at the still smiling sweeper, who held the goon’s gaze unflinchingly. Finks steered the children around the sweeper but when the goon tried to walk around him, the broom somehow became entangled in the goon’s legs, sending him crashing into Mr. Finks, who crashed into some of the boxes with the sound of shattering glass.

That was all the opportunity Erica needed. Still holding Warlock’s hand she bolted back the way they’d come, sending a prayer to anyone that would listen on behalf of the sweeper and Mr. Chan who were arguing loudly with Mr. Finks and his goon. When they reached the corner, Erica dragged Warlock with her when he tried to stop and look back. “Never look back,” she told him hoarsely when they reached the door to the bookshop. She grabbed the doorknob and said another brief but heartfelt prayer that went something like, “Please, pleasepleaseplease, _please_!”

The door soundlessly popped open under her hand and she yanked Warlock inside and quickly shut it again, dragging him around to the nearest shadowy corner where they wouldn’t be spotted by someone walking by, which proved to be the space between the beaten up old couch and the old rolltop desk. They cowered together in the dimness, trying to muffle the sound of their breathing, both of them straining to hear anything that might tell them if they were still being pursued.

“We should call the police.” Warlock reached for his phone but she grabbed his hand, gesturing for him to be quiet and shook her head vehemently. “Why not?” he hissed.

“Won’t help,” she hissed back. “He’s friends with the police.”

“Oh.” _That explains why he isn’t in jail anymore._ Warlock realized, “You know him?”

She stretching her neck a little to peer out the nearest window, but couldn’t really see anything from where they were. Creeping upright to peer out she whispered, “Yeah. He runs a charity. _Seemed_ nice, kinda weird, then he locked me in a room and started praying at me. Big spotlight and drawings on the floor...”

Warlock’s eyes went wide in recognition and he was about to say so but something had him grabbing her hand and pulling her down deeper into the shadows, his finger pressed to his lips. She didn’t fight him, seeing the real fear in his eyes and they both froze, barely daring to breathe. Moments later a shadow loomed in the window she’d been looking out of and they could make out the silhouette of someone putting their hands up to the glass and trying to see inside.

The shadow seemed to loom there for an eternity but eventually it shifted away, though didn’t leave.

“Can we get out?” Warlock asked, feeling like he was going to be sick. Something about the shadowy silhouette seemed vaguely familiar.

Erica shook her head, rubbing at her eyes to keep herself from crying. “They’ll have the door covered. If there’s a back way, I don’t know it.” She looked up at the window, at the not a goon shaped shadow that continued to lurk by the glass, and shivered in fear. “I don’t want Ms. Fell and Crowley to get caught up with them,” she said, tears beginning to leak from her eyes in spite of her efforts.

“Fell and _Crowley_?” Warlock asked, feeling a sudden surge of hope. It couldn’t be a coincidence, the crows, the black feather… could it?

She nodded, waving for him to remember to keep his voice down. “I think so? Only met... them? Only met Crowley once anyway. Met Ms. Fell a couple of times. One of the other kids showed me this place. Told me there’s food and we can sleep if we need to. That Ms. Fell and Mrs. Chan down the street are okay.”

“Is Crowley always with dark glasses? Is Fell round, always-” Warlock mimed wringing his hands together the way he recalled them doing any time there was a lot on their mind.

She nodded at both descriptions, feeling another surge of guilt at the hope that lit up on the kid’s face, and it made up her mind. “Look, if you find a better hiding place, I can make a run for it, maybe then you-”

“No.” The idea had his stomach clenching and he realized why the silhouette looked familiar. “Never.”

“You’re just a kid-”

“ _You’re_ just a kid,” Warlock retorted. “If not the police, then who? We need to call someone.”

She glared at him in annoyance and they both flinched as the knob on the door rattled. The shadow lurking by the window slid away and vanished and a little of the fear went with it. “Fine. There’s an alarm, in the back. I set it off by accident, we can try that?” She cringed. “But only they showed up, no police.”

Warlock pulled out his phone, thinking of the memorized number he’d never tried calling but had always believed would work. “You know, if they are my friends, then they can handle these goons like that,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“How do you know?” she scoffed, desperately wanting to believe.

“Because they saved me from Mr. Finks before.”


	18. Calling In Backup (Monday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley get an unexpected phone call while at breakfast with Aziraphale. Local cryptid status confirmed. There are theatrics. Crowley blinds 'em with science. Aziraphale punches a Nazi.

Crowley was lounging in their chair, waiting for Aziraphale to finish their meal, when one of the alarm spells in the shop was set off at the same time as the phone in their pocket actually _rang,_ making the former demon jump in surprise, which in turn made Aziraphale start too. Crowley hastily pulled the phone out, frowning at the display in complete confusion.

“Who is it?” Aziraphale asked, setting down their fork and dabbing at their lips, frowning when another of the alarms was set off, as well as the third. “Something very weird is going on.”

“Er, yeah... It’s you.” Crowley turned the phone so that Aziraphale could read their name and the shop’s number on the screen. They shared a confounded look before the former demon finally swiped a finger across the glass and held the phone to their ear. “Hello?” The jolt of adrenaline they’d felt seemed ridiculous when all that answered was fast heavy breathing. “Hello? Are you ssserious?” they hissed, turning back to Aziraphale to tell them what they were hearing, but Mrs. Chan was at the former angel’s elbow, whispering urgently.

Crowley heard a sharp intake of breath, and then a scared cracking voice whispered, “Nanny?”

Conversation in the café ceased as in unison Crowley and Aziraphale seemingly levitated from their chairs and dashed _through the table_ _s_ on their way out the door, _which was also closed but didn’t stop them_. The small rain of exact change that clattered to the table in payment of the bill was not worth commenting on.

“Warlock? Are you hurt?” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand to stop them racing ahead, but found themself instead dragged in their wake.

The sound of that comforting familiar hiss was too much for Warlock and the tears he’d been fighting off and swallowing down couldn’t be resisted any more and Erica took the handset while Warlock tried to smother his sobbing into the cuffs of his hoodie. “Hello? C-crowley?”

“Erica??”

She let out a strangled shriek when the mail slot on the door rattled open again and Mr. Finks began singing softly in a weird language that made her bones feel like they were full of electric bees. _Come,_ she felt her bones hum dimly, _walk to the door and open it. Your friend is waiting for you here._ And in her head the little whispering voice that had never led her wrong said, _Oh, I know how this story goes and I don’t bloody think so!_ She dropped the handset and grabbed Warlock and dove for cover, pressing her hands over his ears as she began singing a song from a popular kid’s show at the top of her lungs, trying to drown out Mr. Finks’ voice, and Warlock quickly covered her ears and joined in. His friends had told him a lot of very interesting stories that his parents probably would not have approved of.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley into an alleyway. “They’re actually in the shop,” they said, going silent when a handful of American tourists stopped to stare disapprovingly at them. They hurried away when Crowley whipped around and hissed at them. “Mrs. Chan saw everything. Some white men in suits tried to take Warlock and Erica away but Lu-tze interfered and they ran to the shop. Hide us and we’ll ‘step.”

Crowley kept the phone to their ear, listening to what they recognized as siren song coming very wrongly from a human throat, as the kids continued yelling out the nonsensical lyrics to successfully drown, ha ha, out the magic. Lacing their fingers together with Aziraphale’s, Crowley said, “I have a better idea.”

When the disgusted tourists flagged down a police officer and dragged them to the alley, all that was there was a blackened and cracked phone rocking to a standstill on the old pavement. It strangely flaked away to dust when the officer tried to pick it up, resulting in the tourists getting a stern public lecture about wasting police time and resources on foolish pranks.

At the other end of the line, Crowley and Aziraphale manifested with a shower of sparks as the ancient rotary phone disintegrated under the load. Mr. Finks was still trying to lure them out but it was only a matter of time until he tried an offensive spell and Crowley said, “I’ve got thisss.” They stepped closer to the door and cast a ward against siren song, unaware of the auroral corona that had begun to emanate around them as they bounced on the balls of their feet, waiting for whatever Finks would try next.

Behind Crowley, Aziraphale crouched down by the two children, placing themself bodily between the children and the door, giving them the gentlest of smiles as their singing tapered off. “Hello Warlock. Hello Erica. We’re going to help you, you’re going to be okay.” Aziraphale opened their arms in invitation and Warlock flung himself into their embrace and Erica followed, sobbing brokenly against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“H-he’s going to hurt your friend,” Erica whimpered, cringing when Crowley let out a snarling hiss and began calling on their power when Finks gave up on the siren song and began chanting a ritual spell instead.

Aziraphale felt like snarling themself, recognizing the spell as one of the nastier ‘angelic’ enchantments used to imprison magical beings. “Oh no, dear, Crowley is far far too canny and wily for the likes of him,” Aziraphale soothed.

Behind them Crowley willed a darkly shimmering magical barrier into being in response to Finks’ muttering rising to a crescendo. It was curved, like a parabolic reflector used inside of a telescope, aimed directly back at the open mail slot. “Let’s see how you like it, you bastard.”

Aziraphale put their hands protectively over the kids’ heads to keep them from being blinded by the spell. “Close your eyes now, we’ve got you.”

A net of searing white light exploded through the mail slot, lighting up the whole interior, expanding outward almost in slow motion but Crowley’s reflector caught it and sent it arrowing back through the mail slot at Mr. Finks almost too fast for the eye to follow. “Do unto others, arsehole,” Crowley laughed harshly as the man stumbled away from the door with a scream of pain at the rebounded magic.

A flick of their fingers had the reflector dissipating and about then Crowley noticed the darkly iridescent corona that they were emanating and quickly shook it off, darting a worried look over their shoulder, but the kids were still mostly hidden by the furniture and crying on Aziraphale. They probably hadn’t noticed. If it really mattered at this point. Movement by the door had Crowley sending their senses outward and swearing. “There’s at least three of them, and they’ve got to be starting to attract attention.”

Aziraphale patted the kid’s backs and withdrew from their embraces, pulling a couple of handkerchiefs from their pockets for them to dry their faces with. “You need to hide. We can hide you with magic, or you can hide yourselves.”

“Magic,” they instantly chorused.

“Very well.” Aziraphale quickly cast the camouflage spell over them, smiling when they gasped at seeing each other vanish. “You’ll stay invisible as long as you stay quiet, nothing above a whisper, okay? Some people might come in, but I’ll try to warn you beforehand, alright?”

The children whispered, “Okay,” giggling as they found each other and went to the window to look outside, the only sign of their presence a slight smudging of the dust on the windowsill.

Crowley put themself and Aziraphale outside time. “What’s the plan, angel?”

Aziraphale squared their shoulders. “Clearly the authorities are useless in dealing with these miscreants. I think it’s time _we_ settled this, once and for all, with Mr. Finks and his goons.”

Crowley broke into a full blown grin at the wicked glint in Aziraphale’s golden eyes as they quickly explained their plan. “Always said you were a clever bastard. Of course, you realize…”

“This. Means. War,” Aziraphale finished with a smile. “As you said, we have plenty of tricks up our sleeves. If you’ll see to Finks, I’ll see to the goons. You’re much better at thwarting ritual magic than I. Wily and unpredictable.” Aziraphale’s smile faded and they lifted their hand towards Crowley’s right temple but let it drop. “Is the blessing-”

“Still going strong. You don’t do anything in half-measures, angel.” Crowley reached out and brushed their fingertips over Aziraphale’s left temple, setting a protective blessing of their own. “Owed you one.”

“Th-thank you.” Aziraphale tried to hide their blushing by putting on their little pair of spectacles and straightening their bow-tie, expending a little magic to clean the splotches of (mostly) tears from their shoulders. “I’m ready when you are.”

Crowley restarted time and vanished, getting amazed gasps from the children, and Aziraphale pulled open the door and together they cautiously stepped outside and took in the situation. Mr. Finks was sitting on the sidewalk clutching at his head, the pair of dark-suited goons hovering beside him, clearly unsure what had happened or what to do.

“What on earth is going on out here?” Aziraphale demanded loudly, hands on hips, frowning down at the trio. “You can’t be setting off pyrotechnics willy-nilly like that! You might have set my shop on fire! You’re lucky you didn’t set yourself on fire! Really, everyone thinks they’re a stage magician these days.”

When Mr. Finks waved a hand at the goons, they pulled him up to his feet and then stepped back, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. They had garnered a few spectators who stood in bunches: two of two and one of three; little islands amid the normal foot traffic, watching warily but clearly unwilling to interfere or call in the authorities. The goons saw the signs as being in their favor. However the signs were not written in a language they were fluent it. Calling the _police_ , and calling for _backup_ , are two very different things.

“Beguiler!” Mr. Finks growled. “Leading the pure of heart into darkness! Release those children!”

“What children?” Aziraphale asked, waving to the open door and the clearly empty shop. “Perhaps you concussed yourself when that firework went off. Ah! You were trying to _break in_! I assure you, there’s nothing of interest inside for uncivilized brutes and sideshow charlatans.”

“We saw them! The boy and the girl, what have you done with them?”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to their chest and gasped. “Are you accusing me of _kidnapping_? I can not believe, in this day and age, that someone would try to spread such vile calumny! If you were a younger man, I would call you out for besmirching my honor, sir! If you think I’ve stolen away some children and made them vanish, like a monster from a fairytale, then I demand you call the police right this instant!”

Mr. Finks scowled at Aziraphale, noticing the growing islands of attentiveness amid the flowing streams of people. “You, where’s the other one?” he asked, looking around futilely. “Where’s the other demon?”

“Oh! OH! Do you hear this?!” Aziraphale asked the lookers-on. “First you accuse me of abducting _apparently imaginary_ children, and now you call me and my friend _demons_?!”

“Watch that one,” Mr. Finks hissed at the goons. “The other demon has them, I know it. I’m going to get Mr. Smith.”

“My friend is not a demon! And has certainly _not_ harmed or stolen any children!” Aziraphale called after Mr. Finks as he stormed off down the street, sensing Crowley trailing behind and quickly moving beyond the range of their auras, breaking contact. “Hello,” Aziraphale said, projecting their voice to get the attention of everyone on the street. “Would anyone be willing to look in my shop for these children that man claims are in there? I just want to prove to everyone that he was very much lying.”

There was a moment of milling around before a few people stepped forward and Aziraphale showed them to the door and waved them inside, pulling out a black handkerchief and dabbing at their eyes as though fighting off tears. “This has me so upset! Why are people like this? Thank you for helping me, I just can’t understand…” The reformed angel left the searchers and turned on the goons. “Is that man your boss? I demand to know who he is. Why has he targeted me and my shop? I don’t even know the man!”

The goons exchanged looks, clearly out of their depth. “We’re not at liberty to discuss that information, si- er, ma’am? Our boss will be arriving shortly, you can take things up with him.”

“Oh, you can be very sure that I will!” Aziraphale paced in front of the shop while they looked, briefly allowing themself to press their fingers to their left temple, examining the powerful blessing Crowley had given them. It was warm as sunlight and solid as plate armor and was stronger than any blessing Aziraphale could recall Crowley ever casting as an angel or demon.

The trio of searchers soon came back out of the shop, shutting the door behind them. “Nobody in there. If there even were any children, they were probably running away from him.”

“You’re probably right,” said Aziraphale, spearing another furious look at the goons.

Around then Crowley sauntered into view as though they didn’t have a care in the world, tossing and catching an empty plastic bottle of what had surely been holy water. “Hey. What’s up?”

Aziraphale frowned to realize Crowley was limping but didn’t say anything, instead seared the goons with a disdainful sneer. “Here’s my friend now, clearly _not_ demoniacally abducting imaginary children.” Aziraphale turned towards Crowley, fanning themself in the face as though trying not to cry. “These, these _brutes_ threw a lit firework into the shop!”

Crowley was momentarily distracted by the black handkerchief Aziraphale was fluttering about as they burst into loud theatrical sobs but scowled at the goons, patting Aziraphale’s shoulder, scanning the growing crowd and noting the first of the phones being pointed in their direction. “What the hell is wrong with you? A lit firework?! They’ve a condition you know! Dodgy, er, spleen, very dangerous!”

:Dodgy _spleen?_ : Aziraphale choked on a laugh, quickly turning it into another sob and clutching at their chest. “Oh, oh dear!” Aziraphale quavered, biting on their finger under cover of the handkerchief to keep themself from laughing at the expressions on the goons’ faces. “Everything’s going dark...”

:Spleen’s a thing humans have isn’t it? I didn’t want it to be too serious!: Crowley caught the swooning Aziraphale in their arms and posed tragically with Aziraphale cradled in their arms as a dozen more phones popped up and a few of the locals stepped in around the goons before they could try to make a strategic retreat. After a moment Crowley murmured, “Time to wake up angel, before someone calls an ambulance.”

“Oh, oh my,” said Aziraphale, pressing their wrist to their forehead, the black handkerchief still in hand, fluttering it dramatically. “Did I have one of my little spells?”

“Uh-huh,” said Crowley, looking up when a shadow loomed next to them. “Great, another goon. There a factory somewhere where they pop you lot out?”

Indeed, at first he looked much like the other goons, white, dressed in dark glasses and a dark suit, but unlike the others, his suit was tailored to actually fit his muscular frame and he wore a flashy gold watch and a gold pinky ring. “I am Mr. Smith. Are you the proprietor of this bookshop?”

“That would be me,” quavered Aziraphale, blue eyes narrowing as they looked Mr. Smith over. Aziraphale blushed hotly as Crowley tenderly if smirkingly began to set their clothes to rights.

“Mr. Fell, I understand that your, er, wife is upset, but this has all been a simple misunderstanding,” said Mr. Smith with an ingratiating smile of blinding whiteness, pointedly looking at Crowley, who clamped an arm firmly around Aziraphale as a precaution when the ex-angel sucked in a breath and drew themself to their full height and then some. “I’m sure you and I can discuss this like rational adults while Mrs. Fell has a little lie down, hmm?”

“ _I_ am A. Z. Fell,” said Aziraphale with freezing politeness. “ _You_ may address me as _Dr._ A. Z. Fell.”[1] The proprietors of the bookshop had earned a bit of a reputation over the centuries, a familial quirk as it were, that had worked itself into the communal psyche of the neighborhood, so that everyone who spent any time there knew instantly when they heard _that_ tone of voice, that some poor deserving soul was about to regret all of their life choices. People still talked about the very public dressing down and subsequent thrashing of Lord Albert Rust in the autumn of 1892 that had sent the young Captain to an early retirement in the countryside.

“Wrong on all counts there. Neither a mister nor a missus,” said Crowley offhandedly, moving so that they were standing behind Aziraphale’s left shoulder. Out of the line of fire. “Not my bookshop.”

It took Smith a moment to recover from his confusion but he eventually shifted his smarmy smile to Aziraphale, who sniffed disdainfully when Smith held out his hand for a handshake. “Dr. A. Z. Fell. Sorry about that. My associate Mr. Finks, er, where is Finks?” Smith asked the goons, who shrugged. “Ahem, Mr. Finks is not a young man any more and I fear he was somewhat confused-”

“Confused,” echoed Aziraphale. “The man shot off a _firework_ into my _bookshop._ He yelled slanderous things on the street outside of my place of business and ran off when I told him to call the police.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “That is not confusion, Mr. Smith, that is _criminal behavior_. And those two men helped him commit these illegal acts in broad daylight. And now you’re here trying to do what exactly?”

The smarmy smile vanished and Mr. Smith stepped into Aziraphale’s space, clearly trying to intimidate with his greater size, usually looming head and shoulders over people. Somehow he loomed even higher over what he had thought was a rather tall woman. “I’m trying to smooth this misunderstanding over, Fell, for the good of the community. My associates and I are part of a charitable organization who feels very strongly about the continued integrity of our great nation.” He looked up, sneering at the sea of mostly not-white faces. “We just want to make sure you’re supporting the _right_ sort of community.”

“You and your little friends aren’t interested in _community_ , Edward,” Aziraphale said, nodding a little when he scowled. “You’re interested _power_. Oh yes, Edward, I know you and your ilk far too well, whatever it is you call yourselves these days. You are naught but spineless honorless wretches; liars and cheats, bullies and scoundrels, unworthy of the countenance of even the lowliest worm. Say the word and I will gladly set you down in a way you will not soon forget,” Aziraphale said, shoulders thrown back as they huffed for breath, seemingly already overwrought by just talking.

“Are, are you saying you want to _fight_?” Aziraphale nodded and lifted their chin defiantly when Smith laughed, drawing a murmur from the crowd. “You? Fight me?? Is she for real?” Smith asked, looking over Aziraphale’s shoulder to Crowley, who was standing hipshot, a little smirk curling their lip as they watched things unfold. People were already betting on how quickly it would be over. When Crowley nodded Smith’s lip curled in a sneer. “You aren’t even going to stop her committing suicide like this?”

“Not even the devil himself could stop them,” Crowley said, smiling when Aziraphale frowned at them.

Smith laughed again and shook his head, and began undoing his watch, slipping it into his jacket pocket along with his cuff links and his tie. “You’re both insane.” He pulled off his jacket and passed it to one of the goons, both of whom looked very nervous standing amid the steadily growing crowd. “I knew Finks was mad, but that was a predictable kind of mad. This, this is just a death wish.”

“I assure you that I am in complete possession of my mental faculties,” Aziraphale said, turning away from Smith with another sniff and Crowley stepped in to help them take off their coat, holding it as they took off their glasses and plain cuff links, setting them in the coat pocket. “I have neither desire nor expectation of harm, let alone death at your hands, Edward.” They pulled out the black compass and unhooked the fob from their waistcoat, handing it to Crowley with a hand that trembled. Around them, the betting redoubled. The locals were going to make a lot of money.

“Yeah? And what about your friends here?” Edward glared at the milling crowd as he rolled up his sleeves. He smiled smugly when many of them looked away from his stare. His mistake was assuming their reaction was from fear and not that something much more entertaining was going on behind him; his goons being separated and quietly swallowed up by the crowd before they realized the danger they were in.

“I assure you that they will not touch you, no matter what happens,” Aziraphale stated, also rolling up their sleeves. “We have no reason to want the authorities disrupting our community.” Around them people nodded, and Crowley shrugged. “They won’t need to interfere with what happens between you and I.” Aziraphale pulled out the black handkerchief and carefully folded it into a long strip and held it out to Crowley.

“Really?” Crowley asked with an amused smirk.

“They did wrong you gravely,” Aziraphale answered, only partially joking.

Crowley sighed and rolled their eyes but folded Aziraphale’s coat over their arm and solemnly took the handkerchief in both hands and began tying it around Aziraphale’s right bicep. “Sir A. Z. Fell, Champion of Soho and its environs, I bestow upon you this token as a sign of my favor in your upcoming battle.” The crowd ate this piece of theater up just as Aziraphale expected they would.

“You’re completely insane,” Smith said, breaking into a big grin. “But in the spirit of fairness, I’ll give you a free shot. Probably the only one you’ll get.” He grinned and leaned down, tapping himself on the left cheek. “Right there, buttercup.”

There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd, and there were definitely phones recording the street drama being played out. Most would find the blond and their friend oddly blurry upon review, but the all too brief action would be crystal clear. Mr. Smith was going to be haunted by this day for a very long time.

Aziraphale faced Mr. Smith, setting their feet and putting their fists up in the classic fisticuffs pose. “I feel it only fair to warn you that I am well trained in the pugilistic arts.”[2]

“It that supposed to worry me?” Smith laughed, and crashed over on his side, the whole crowd oohing. It quickly devolved into laughing and jeering as he tried to get up and fell back to one knee. His jaw felt almost knocked out of place from the force of the blow and he stared at Aziraphale in shock.

“I did warn you,” said Aziraphale lightly, still in the same farcical pose. “And I am terribly out of practice. Probably for the best, I would feel just dreadful if I hurt you _too_ badly.”

“You pulled that punch, angel, don’t try to spare his feelings,” drawled Crowley with a taunting smirk at Smith.

Aziraphale turned away from Smith towards Crowley, throwing their hands up dramatically. “Well, I don’t want to demoralize the poor man! It would be awfully unsporting,” they said as the crowd gasped, leaning out of the way at the last moment to let Smith’s haymaker blow past, turning with surprising speed and prodding Smith with just enough force to overbalance him, making the crowd laugh as he stumbled and fell to one knee. “Although it seems Mr. Smith isn’t interested in behaving honorably. No surprise I suppose.” Aziraphale shook their head as though disappointed and clucked their tongue, falling back into their fisticuffs pose when Smith lurched back up to his feet. “I’m not even a man, Mr. Smith, and I know that’s not how a man should act. It seems your _community_ has failed you greatly.”

There were more oohs and jeering at that taunt and Smith bellowed with rage and charged at Aziraphale only to double over from their jab to his solar plexus, wilting to the pavement as he struggled to suck in a breath. The reformed angel watched impassively as he gasped for air and staggered back to his feet, the smug assurance long gone, the rage slowly turning to fear. “I think we’ve played long enough, Edward. In the spirit of fairness, you gave me one shot, so I will give you one.” They put their arms down and clasped their hands behind their back, sticking out that obvious soft belly, closing their eyes and letting out a slow breath as they grounded themself. “Anywhere you like.”

The bait was too tempting to resist and Smith went for a gut punch, and Smith went white in pain as something audibly crunched and the crowd hissed in an expectant breath. He collapsed to the sidewalk, clasping at his wrist, his mangled hand dangling uselessly. “What- what-”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale straightened up and frowned, reaching into their waistcoat pocket and pulling out their badly smashed and deteriorated fob watch. “I forgot I had it on me.”

And it was then that the police made themselves known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Aziraphale had earned a PhD back when they were first gaining popularity in the 1800s, mostly as a way to keep themself sane during Crowley’s long absence, and only ever demanded use of the honorific from people who got on their last nerve.  [▲]
> 
> 2\. by Elizabeth Wilkinson, 1725. Which goes to show that when Aziraphale actually sets their mind to learning something, it stays learnt.  [▲]


	19. Consequences (Monday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it not written, Go to your room and think about what you did!

It was amazing, how quickly a large crowd could become no crowd, and the two officers casually strolling into the open space in front of the shop had had the street mostly empty in moments. There were a lot of questions asked and answered, most of them honestly on Aziraphale and Crowley’s part, a few even truthfully. An ambulance was called for Mr. Smith and his two unfortunate employees, who had apparently fainted at some point during the fight, although there weren’t any witnesses who’d seen it happen. There were a lot of witnesses who hadn’t seen a lot of things.

Aziraphale dismissed the idea of pressing assault charges on Mr. Smith, being the one to issue the challenge, but they did want to press charges against the absent Mr. Finks and the two goons, as did Mr. Chan, who had boxes of goods damaged in an unprovoked attack.

Mr. Smith on the other, broken, hand did want to press charges. “You set that up,” he growled at Aziraphale as the emergency response team looked at his swollen hand.

“How could I predict where you would punch me, Edward? As I said, I forgot I had it on me. It was a family heirloom,” Aziraphale said, still in their waistcoat and shirtsleeves, the black handkerchief on arm. They showed the officers the broken fob watch, clearly quite old and quite beyond repair as a few gears escaped the crumpled casing and bounced away. “Oh dear. Quite irreplaceable, one of a kind.”

The police collected up what they could as evidence and it was all rather anti-climactic as Mr. Smith and his goons were driven off to get treatment. Dealing with the authorities had taken four times longer than the entire situation from phone call to end of fight.

Aziraphale and Crowley were finally allowed to retreat to the bookshop, turning away the last few curiosity seekers who had seen the scene, closing and locking the door with a relieved sigh, pulling down the blinds on all the windows before removing the spell from over the children.

“I could really do with some tea,” said Aziraphale, pitting on the kettle and pulling out a deluxe tin of biscuits and setting it on the table between the two children. A quick tug had the black handkerchief untying itself and Aziraphale fastidiously smoothed it out and folded it properly, tucking it away in their trouser pocket before pulling on their favorite cardigan. “So, where is Finks?”

“Taking a temporary nap in an alley. You were right about him being a wizard,” said Crowley, carefully hanging Aziraphale’s coat on the coat-rack and setting themself down onto the couch with a cringe that had Aziraphale at their side before they were even fully seated.

“You should have said something sooner,” Aziraphale scolded, feeling guilty for having had fun playing cat and mouse with Smith while Crowley had been hurt dealing with Finks.

“I’m fine-” Crowley let out a sigh as golden light washed from Aziraphale’s hands, soothing the lingering ache of their mostly healed injuries. “Nasty piece of work, worse than the last time we crossed paths.”

“I told you,” Warlock hissed to Erica, who rolled her eyes at him but was also clearly impressed.

“I think we might need to call Esk, bring in the wizards to deal with him proper,” Crowley finished, unthinkingly pulling off their glasses and rubbing at their eyes. “He was using stolen magic.”

“It’s from the kids.” Erica and Warlock both went wide-eyed when Crowley looked at them but Erica explained, “They go to the charity to get food and stuff. And some of us… he locked me in a room with a big spotlight and there were drawings on the floor and he threw water at me. I pretended I couldn’t walk past the drawings but ran when I could. I tried to warn the others but most of them didn’t believe me.”

“Except the ones who’d seen it too,” guessed Aziraphale, setting down the tea tray and popping open the tin of biscuits. “And some of them just never came back?”

Erica nodded, clutching at her mug, more for the comforting warmth than anything else. “I’m sorry-”

“For what, dear? I’m just glad you were close enough to find shelter here,” said Aziraphale, offering Crowley their mug and frowning when they just waved it away, setting it down on the side table. “Crowley-”

“Just tired, angel. Been a while since I fought a mad wizard.”

“Hmm, the 500’s some time, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, offering their hand and their outer aura.

Crowley accepted, giving Aziraphale a knowing look when their energy began to return. “Nah, there was that guy in the 1400s, remember? Turns out he was part of the Witchfinder Army, Shadwell told me about him. One of Adultery Pulsifer’s relatives.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” said Aziraphale, reluctantly releasing Crowley’s hand and giving them their mug when they sat back up. “Do you want me to call- oh.” Aziraphale sighed at the disintegrated remains of the antique telephone. “Probably for the best, let the fervor die down a little before I replace it.”

“I’ll call her.” Crowley took a sip of tea and frowned at the palm of their other hand, and in a blink a new version of their phone was there. A few taps had the phone dialing and Aziraphale turned back to the children, who had made inroads on the biscuit supply and were pouring themselves second mugs of tea. “Do you have somewhere safe to stay?” Aziraphale asked Erica.

She shrugged, eyes wandering away from Aziraphale’s face, following the strange colorless but distinct tendrils that seemed to stretch between Aziraphale and Crowley, blended in the middle as though they were somehow still holding hands. It wasn’t at all like the colored haze she could see around normal people, it was more like staring at a light too long and having a glowing shadow trailing in her vision that vanished if she tried to look at it directly. After a moment she couldn’t see it at all anymore.

“What are you staring at?” Warlock asked her, squinting at where Erica seemed to be staring, but not seeing anything but Crowley on the couch, talking lowly into their phone.

She blinked and hunched her shoulders when she realized Aziraphale had noticed her looking. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine, dear. It’s a rare talent, to be able to see _our_ auras. That’s probably why Finks targeted you.” Aziraphale tried to remember how to test a child for magic, but it had been so long, the memory wasn’t coming back easily. “Well, perhaps Esk can help. Have another biscuit.”

Warlock slouched down in his chair when Aziraphale turned solemnly in his direction. “I’m in trouble.”

“Indeed, you are, my boy. You were almost kidnapped. If Erica hadn’t been here...”

Warlock didn’t even bother denying it, but he stuck his stubborn little chin into the air. “I came looking for my friends,” he said, almost keeping the quaver out of his voice. “I’m supposed to love my friends, you, Brother Francis said so.”

“Yes, you are supposed to love your friends,” Aziraphale agreed, glancing at Crowley when they stepped up to the table. “But how do you think we felt when we found out you were in danger because of us?”

“You had my number,” Crowley said. “A text-”

“It was for emergencies only,” Warlock protested. “And if I had? Would _Mr. Harrison_ have texted me back or would he have ghosted me? Same way Nanny and Brother Francis answered my letters then faded away?” he said, swallowing down more tears. “I don’t want you to go away anymore.”

Crowley went to one knee next to his chair, eyes unhidden by sunglasses or magic. “Are you sure, Warlock?” They looked over Warlock’s shoulder to meet Erica’s eyes, making it clear that they weren’t just speaking to Warlock. “Because once we really hold on, we’re not ones to let go.”

He didn’t even hesitate, nodding emphatically. “You get lost if you let go,” Warlock whispered, words he remembered from a dream or a memory, he couldn’t be sure. “What should I call you?”

“I’m usually called Crowley, Anthony J. Crowley, but you can call me Nanny if you like, I don’t mind. That’s Aziraphale, but they go by A. Z. Fell to most people. It’s okay if you’d like a hug- ugh, alright, do like to breathe, okay.” Crowley patted Warlock’s back, letting out a heavy sigh, not at all sure how they felt about having Warlock stay in their life. It had seemed so much safer and saner for the boy to be without them.

“So, how upset are your parents going to be?” Aziraphale asked when Warlock was back in his seat, eating another biscuit. He and Erica weren’t getting sick on them only because everyone believed they wouldn’t. They were also far more nutritious than any biscuit had a right to be.

Warlock cringed and shrugged. “Well, I had a plan...” He explained it all to them, finishing with, “No one’s texted me, so no one’s found out yet,” he said, holding up his phone, only to frown as he recalled why they hadn’t used his phone to call Crowley. “I, uh, I don’t have a signal though.”

“Oh, right. I hate it when people chatter away on their phones while they’re browsing.” Aziraphale snapped their fingers, eyebrows arching when Warlock’s phone went mad with notification noises.

He quickly checked the most recent ones, sighing in relief to see it was just Oleg and Penny being mad because Warlock hadn’t responded yet. He quickly texted back, ‘I’m okay, just got coverage again.’ Warlock looked up at them and his smile faded at Aziraphale’s expression. “You’re going to tell Mom.”

“Quite right, young man. You could have gotten lost, or worse, as you are well aware. Your actions have consequences, and this one is that you’re probably going to be grounded until your birthday after next.”

Warlock turned pleading eyes on Crowley, who laughed and ruffled his hair. “Oh, nice try kid, but no, you made this mess, now you have to clean it up, you know that.”

“What happened to crushing my enemies beneath my heels?” he grumbled, sending another text to Oleg and Penny with only the word, ‘trouble’ and an angry frowny face.

Aziraphale sipped their tea and asked gently, “Are we really your enemies, Warlock?”

He let out a long beleaguered sigh as Erica giggled and he slouched down under the table with embarrassment and sulkily answered, “No.” Erica passed him another biscuit out of solidarity.

“Well then.”

Both children froze when someone knocked on the door, only relaxing when Aziraphale got up to check, announcing, “It’s our friend Esk.”

Erica blinked at her very unusual aura, and how similar it was to the sweepers. She offered a wave when Aziraphale introduced her. Another little giggle escaped when Warlock stuck an arm out from under the table to wave when he was introduced. “You’re a… wizard?” Erica hazarded, recalling the discussion earlier.

“I am, in my own way. I’m also a witch. It’s complicated,” said Esk with a friendly smile. “So I’ve brought along the resident wayward wizard wrangler and his assistant, but they tell me they’ve met you under rather different circumstances,” she said with a smirk, gesturing to where the Librarian and Rincewind stood sheepishly on the sidewalk.

“Ah yes,” said Aziraphale with a slight chill in their tone and closed the door with them outside. “Esk, there is another reason we called you. Er, Erica and Warlock were both targeted by Finks, we think to steal their powers. I er, I don’t recall how to test them for magic the, uh, proper way.” There were unfortunately a great many improper ways to discover if someone unknowingly had magic. The Inquisition and the Witchfinder Army had invented a great many of them.

Esk blinked and canted her head, eyes going distant. “Oh, yea, no question, but, oh. Oh,” said Esk, doing her best to keep her thoughts from her expression when she realized who this Erica girl was. She gave Erica a faint smile. “Uh, yeah, you’ve got the good makings of being a witch I think. Actually, so does Warlock, funnily enough. Can’t really be sure until they’re older, of course, but the potential is all there. We can help them with that later, yeah? Don’t want to wait too long...”

“Well that was easy,” said Crowley, slipping their glasses back on. “I’ll show you where Finks is at.” Crowley preceded Esk back out of the bookshop, grinning toothily at the two men. “Hello again.” Rincewind gave a hesitant wave and the Librarian gave them a respectful nod. “I’m doing a thing to keep us hidden, but stay close and keep an eye out, alright?” Crowley said, all of them nodding and falling into step.

“What did you say this man’s name was?” Rincewind asked.

“Finks, don’t know his first name. He looks like he’s in his seventies, maybe eighties, dresses in nice but way outdated suits, talks like fire and brimstone preacher off of TV.”

The Librarian grunted and Rincewind translated. “Sound like Septimus Finks, also known as Sanctimonious Finks, never actually graduated, got swept up in a cult in the 1970s and denounced magic as a tool of the, er, devil.”

Crowley let out a laugh and shook their head. “Wrong on all counts. Here we are, still snoring peacefully. He hit us with three different kinds of magic, one of which was an angelic spell. The spell he probably learned from a book, but the other stuff, no. If we weren’t immune to siren song, or if the kids hadn’t plugged their ears and started singing loud enough to drown him out, things would have gone differently.”

“He stole the magic from a _siren_? He lives on an _island_!” The younger wizards exchanged a very worried look and looked to the Librarian, who was the senior wizard in charge of dealing with rogues. He made a very definitive and final gesture and Esk and Rincewind nodded solemnly in agreement.

Crowley had a feeling the bed Finks had made for himself was going to be lined with sand and seaweed, and he’d be laying in it permanently. Whatever vile things the man had been doing, he wouldn’t be doing them ever again.

Crowley gave them cover as the Librarian easily lifted Finks over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and together they walked to where the campus van was parked. With Rincewind’s help the Librarian arranged the unconscious man in the back seat under a blanket as though he were just tired after a long trip.

“We will make sure he harms no one else,” Rincewind translated for the Librarian, who gave Crowley another respectful nod and swung into the van’s front passenger seat. “You, er, are still coming..?”

“We’ll see you on Thursday. We’ll see if Aziraphale can pull themselves away from the book fair long enough to remember what we really came for,” said Crowley with a small fond smile.

“Can we give you a ride, Crowley? Least we can do,” offered Esk, holding open the side door.

“Yeah, sure.” Crowley slipped in next to her. “Any word on what can be done for Erica?”

Esk sighed. “We're looking into it, but it’s not looking good. If we could discover the name of who marked her, maybe we could do something, but it’s no guarantee.”

“Figures. Well, keep looking, every bit helps.” Crowley slipped out of the van and tapped the side twice, pretending to watch it drive away as they sniffed the air, catching an unfortunately familiar scent. “Hastur.” A quick search proved they’d been and gone, but it made Crowley wary as they crossed the street and silently called, :I’m back.:

Aziraphale answered with a smile, though it slipped when they saw Crowley’s expression as they stepped inside. :What happened?: It was becoming second nature again, to extend a tendril of their outer aura the moment Crowley was within view, and it was a comfort how quickly and easily their friend reciprocated.

:Caught a whiff of Hastur. Probably nothing, but it might not be,: Crowley answered, darting a look at Erica, who was dozing on one end of the couch after the excitement of the morning, Warlock curled up in the other. :We’ll discuss it later. We should get Warlock back before someone notices.:

:We did discuss that. I think it might go over better if we bring him back instead of just ringing the Dowlings.: Aziraphale settled themself into a chair, shaking their head as they watched the sleeping children. :I think you were a little too good at teaching him strategy.: Aziraphale accused with a fond look.

:It was a deuced clever plan,: Crowley said, getting a scolding look and a faint chuckle of agreement. :For the best he isn’t the anti-christ.:

:Quite.:

They let the children rest for a little longer before waking them, escorting them under the cover of Crowley’s powers over to Mrs. Chan’s to use their restroom. Waiting for them at one of the café tables was Lu-tze, his broom resting nearby. He was counting out a large stack of money and gave Aziraphale a grinning nod. “This one might outstrip Lord Rust for popularity,” Lu-tze predicted, speaking English with a local accent. “Of course, with video to immortalize it, it will certainly go farther abroad.”

“It would have been too much effort to block them all,” said Aziraphale. “May I introduce my hereditary enemy and best friend, Anthony J. Crowley?” they said, getting a chuckle from Lu-tze and a smirk from Crowley. “Crowley, this is Lu-tze, also known as the Sweeper.”

Crowley’s eyebrows winged upwards with curiosity. “Nice to meet you. I think I’ve heard about you.”

“I’ve definitely heard of you,” smiled Lu-tze, shifting his eyes to Aziraphale, who pretended to not see. “Very wily-”

Aziraphale loudly cleared their throat as Lu-tze and Crowley both grinned. “I first met Lu-tze a few months after opening the bookshop.”

“Don’t ask, because I won’t tell you,” Lu-tze said with a friendly smile, before Crowley could even begin asking questions. “But I think you owe me for my help today,” he said to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise but nodded. “Whatever is in my power,” they agreed, sharing a look with Crowley, who nodded. “If you hadn’t stopped them-”

“I think a drink would be appropriate,” Lu-tze said, leaning back in their chair and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “A little one. In a wooden cup perhaps?” he hinted when they both just stared in surprise.

“But, but why?”

“I’m still just human,” Lu-tze smiled, breathing out a couple of smoke rings. “Time’ll catch up with me long before it catches up with you. I like having a few aces in reserve. Or maybe it’s Queens, in this case.” He grinned at their expressions. “I had a very interesting conversation with Agnes Nutter when she came to London to flog her book. _She_ found _me._ Fascinating woman. I’ve only got a little spare time for us today, so...”

Aziraphale did the honors and Lu-tze shuddered after drinking it all down, setting it on the sidewalk and using the butt of their cigarette to light the cup on fire. He just grinned at whatever it was he saw in his vision and leaned back in his chair to nap, lacing his hands together over his stomach as he stretched out his legs. “Won’t be seeing you again for a while. Give my regards to Nanny Ogg when you see her though, tell her she got it just right.”

We’ll, er, do that,” said Crowley, and the moment was lost as the children came barreling out of the shop, and they returned to the bookshop to discuss their plans.

“So, who is it you want to take you back?” Aziraphale asked Warlock, who fidgeted nervously as he looked between them, clearly worried about what he was thinking. “We won’t be mad, but we need to decide now so we all know what to tell your parents.”

Warlock looked between then again, and darted a look at Erica, who was on the couch, pretending to not be listening in. “I, er, I want Nanny. But…”

“But... Brother Francis was a little much?” guessed Crowley, arching an eyebrow at Aziraphale when Warlock nodded guiltily.

Aziraphale made a face but chuckled. “He was, wasn’t he? Can’t say I mind not playing with slugs anymore,” they confided to Warlock, who giggled. “I think perhaps Brother Francis can have retired to a cottage by the sea for his health, hmm?”

“And Mr. Harrison is off teaching somewhere exciting, like Indiana,” said Crowley, their voice softening into Nanny’s as they shifted themself into their persona. Their clothes became less form fitting and their hair fell into shoulder length waves that they pulled back from their face and tied into a casual pony tail. Crowley smiled faintly at the amazed expression on Erica’s face. “I’m Ms. Ashtoreth in this form, Warlock’s former nanny. And this is Mr. Cortese, one of Warlock’s tutors.”

“Would you like to come with us?” Aziraphale asked. “Or you can stay here, it is entirely up to you.”

“Come with us!” Warlock said, hopping from his chair to leap onto the couch beside her. “If I’m going to get in trouble anyway, you should get a reward or something for saving me.”

“Oh, I… I’d like to come with you. If that’s okay?” She looked at Aziraphale and Crowley pleadingly, clearly worried. “But, won’t they tell my mom?”

“Does your mom not know you’re not at home?” Warlock asked in shock.

“She, er, no, not usually. We live with my great uncle and she spends all her time taking care of him. I hate it there,” Erica said with a shudder. “It’s okay during school but on holidays I spend most of my time away. I stay with friends or...”

“We’ll sort it out,” said Aziraphale, pushing themself to their feet. “We should be going if we’re going to catch the bus.” Warlock let out a little disappointed sigh that had Crowley chuckling knowingly. Aziraphale gave them both a stern look. “There is no way in, ahem, that it would be safe for you to ride with C- Ms. Ashtoreth driving.”

“You could drive,” Crowley taunted lowly, grinning when Aziraphale rolled their eyes.

“Perish the thought!”

“Suit yourself, angel. Come along, children,” they said, holding out their hands. Warlock took their right hand, so Erica hesitantly took their left. “Would you like to be one of our cousins, or a niece perhaps?” Crowley asked her, doing the thing for all of them as Aziraphale closed up shop.

“You could be her Nanny too,” Warlock suggested. Feeling somewhere between gleeful and euphoric to be walking with his friends again, even knowing he was going to be in big trouble over the big plan, Warlock pulled out his phone, answering Oleg and Penny’s latest text that asked if it had been worth it, replying YES!!! with a lot of OK emojis and thumbs ups and grinning smilies.


	20. Harriet The Spy (Monday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and all the birdies come home to roost.

When they reached the bus stop, Erica shifted closer to Mr. Cortese and mumbled, “I, um, can I ask you something?”

He gave her an encouraging smile and nodded. “Of course, Erica. Is something wrong?”

“No...” She darted a look at Ms. Ashtoreth and at the kid, Warlock, _what kind of name is that,_ _anyway_? relieved to see them not paying any mind to her or Mr. Cortese. “I, er, would it be okay if I said you were part of my family?”

His eyes got soft and he nodded. “I’d be honored to be part of your family, Erica.”

“Maybe my cousin?”

“If you like,” Mr. Cortese beamed, holding out his hand to her. “How delightful.”

Erica took his hand, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders. “What should I call you?”

“Oh, er.” He looked up at Cr- Ms. Ashtoreth, who was smiling just the faintest bit, staring off in the direction the bus was coming from. “Did we ever settle on first names?”

“Didn’t seem much point,” Ms. Ashtoreth admitted. “Yours is easy enough.”

“Oh?”

The quirked lips blossomed into a full smile. “Angel, obviously.”

Mr. Cortese blinked and let out a chuckle. “Oh, yes, I suppose that would do. But what about you?”

“Oh, maybe Nenna, or some version of Nanny. Keep it simple.” She ignored the quirked eyebrow _Angel_ gave her in response to her too-quick-to-be-spontaneous answer and looked at Erica. “What do you think? Which sounds better?”

“I like Nenna,” Erica said, scrunching her nose. “Seems weird to name someone Nanny.”

“Yeah,” Warlock agreed. “But I can still call you Nanny right?”

“Of course, dear,” she said, taking his offered hand as the bus pulled up. “Why don’t you pull up the app and get us started back, hmm?”

Warlock let out a heavy sigh but did as told, taking the window seat and grinning happily when Ms. Ashtoreth sat beside him, Erica and Mr. Cortese sitting in the row behind them. “Will we be able to talk on the phone?” Warlock asked them, barely able to keep in his seat.

Ms. Ashtoreth turned in her seat to look at Mr. Cortese, who gave Warlock a slightly chiding look and reminded him, “That depends entirely on how your parents feel about your little adventure today. But if they give permission, then yes.”

“I won’t be grounded forever,” he said, far too happy to let reality interfere just yet.

“Hopefully,” Erica murmured, laughing when he stuck his tongue out at her.

They spent the first part of the trip talking about nothing much, and Mr. Cortese had an uncomfortable time listening to Warlock complain about the bad stage magician he’d been forced to have at his birthday party. As they drew closer to their destination they talked through what Warlock was going to tell his mom.

As they neared the back gate of Oleg’s house under the cover of Crowley’s powers, Warlock couldn’t ignore the knot of worry in his stomach any longer. “Mom’s going to be really upset, isn’t she?” They all nodded and he slouched down guiltily, remaining silent as he led them down the alley. “I don’t want her to be mad at me,” he said in a small voice when they reached the gate.

Mr. Cortese crouched down so that they were closer to eye to eye. “That is one of the consequences you have to face, Warlock. Sometimes we say and do things that hurt others, and even if we didn’t mean it, it still hurt them. So we have to apologize and we have to work to be better about not hurting them again. It’s not always easy and we all make mistakes, but you have to keep trying. Do you understand?”

Warlock nodded, asking for and getting hugs from Mr. Cortese and Nanny Ashtoreth, and even one from Erica when he asked, before slipping back inside the back yard. He waited for a few minutes before texting Oleg and Penny that he was back so that Penny could go be herself again.

They both came tearing out of the house with happy shouts that quickly cut off when they saw his expression. He gave them a weak wave. “Hi.”

“You weren’t kidding?” asked Oleg worriedly, “About being in trouble?”

Warlock shook his head. “I’m not going to tattle though, I promise. We can say we had a fight-”

“No,” interrupted Penny, real name ‘Penumbra’. “We’re your friends, all for one, one for all, remember?” Oleg nodded hard in agreement.

Warlock gave them a sheepish smile. “Thanks Pen. Thanks Oleg. This is going to be really bad,” he warned. “I won’t be mad if you-” They shook their heads no and he sighed heavily, jumping when his phone rang. “It’s mom!” He hesitantly answered, walking a little bit away from Penny and Oleg. “Mom?”

“Hi honey. How’s your day going?”

“It’s uh, it’s fine...”

“What’s wrong, Warlock? Did you and your friends have a fight?”

“No, Mom, everything’s fine with them. I, uh, I was just going to call you. I... did something and I think you’re going to be really mad at me.”

There was a slow exhalation of breath that Warlock was surprised to realize was relief. “I had a feeling something was off today. Talk to me, Warlock. What happened?”

“Oh, uh...” He gulped and confessed, “I decided to go try to find Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis.”

The others could hear her sigh though the phone. “Are you safe? Where are you? Those useless security-” She broke off whatever else she was about to say. “Do you need me to pick you up? If you’re in danger you should-”

“I’m not in danger. I’m back at Oleg’s house actually. Could, could we talk in person? I’m really sorry.”

“Alright, honey, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.” He disconnected the call and rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of the hoodie. “I am so dead,” he told Oleg and Penny, who knew they were probably just as dead.

“We better tell Dad your mom is coming.” They all trudged inside as though going to the gallows.

“Let me do the talking, okay?” Warlock murmured, and they nodded in agreement, neither one wanting to be the spokeskid for their little group. “Um, Mr. Alexandr?”

Oleg’s dad turned towards them and stood up worriedly. “Is something wrong?”

“My mom’s coming to pick me up. I, uh, I just need to talk to her but she er, might want to talk to you later,” Warlock hedged. “We just thought you should know she was coming. Not an emergency or anything.”

He eyed Warlock and the other two Musketeers, knowing there was a lot more going on than what Warlock was saying, but trusted Harriet to suss it all out. “All right. I’ll be available when she wants to talk.”

“Thanks, Mr. Alexandr.” They quickly retreated to the pillow fort, sharing worried grimaces at his use of ‘when’. “I’m really sorry,” Warlock told them.

“Ugh, quit,” said Penny, flapping her hands at him as she flopped over. “Tell us what happened!”

“I found them! But, er, almost got kidnapped.” They stared in shock as he told a heavily edited version of meeting Erica and her knowing a safe space to hide, and he skimmed over a lot of details but told them the overall story of what happened after his friends arrived back at the shop. And then had to skim over the first time Mr. Finks had kidnapped him. “So that’s why Mom’s going to be really upset.”

“I didn’t know you’d been kidnapped before!” Penny gasped, half oddly jealous, half horrified. “Wow.”

“We’re soooo dead. We’ll be like _fifteen_ before we’ll see each other again,” said Oleg breathlessly. They all shuddered in horror. “Is your dad going to make you go back to America?”

Warlock felt almost dizzy at the idea, it was so awful. “Oh no.”

They all jumped when the doorbell rang and they stayed where they were as Mr. Alexandr went to open it. There was some muted talking, which was pierced by a muffled swear before Mrs. Dowling came into the room alone while Mr. Alexandr retreated to his office for a fortifying drink before he called his wife and Penny’s parents.

“Warlock?”

Warlock crawled out of the fort, cringing at the expression on his mom’s face. It wasn’t so much anger as worry and disappointment and it made Warlock want to cry, though he rubbed at his eyes to make sure he didn’t. “Hi Mom. I can explain-”

“Hmm. We will discuss this in private,” Harriet said, lips pressed into a thin line. She smiled at the others when they crawled out of the fort. “Hello you two. Say your goodbyes Warlock, and I’ll get your things.”

The trio huddled together forlornly, all on the verge of tears, snuffling and sniffling, all of them pretty sure they’d be _twenty_ before they saw each other again. Harriet reappeared with Warlock’s bag and had a brief chat with Mr. Alexandr before ushering Warlock out of the house to her car.

They were silent as she drove and he fidgeted in his seat, desperate to fill the silence but also not wanting to be the one to break it. He could almost pretend things were okay, that he hadn’t messed things up. They pulled into a parking spot and she got out, opening the door for him and offering her hand when he got out, which he clasped onto tightly as they walked together into the park.

What had been purely entertainment for tiny Warlock had become a haven for Harriet and Warlock, when being surrounded by stony-faced guards became too much. Even in the dead of winter they could come to the park and pretend they were alone. Harriet went to their favorite bench, glad to find it empty, and sat with Warlock tucked under her arm. “Tell me everything.”

Relief and dread flooded through him. “I tried to find Nanny and Brother Francis online. But you didn’t know their names so with no lessons I figured I’d have time to try to find the address we mailed my letters to. I told Oleg and Penny it was just a prank, they didn’t, they shouldn’t get in trouble,” he said, giving her a pleading look. “It was all my idea, they just wanted to help me.”

“Hmm,” she said neutrally. “So you sneaked out of the Alexandr’s house and..?”

“It only took a couple of buses to get there. The shop was closed but there was a sign saying ‘be back soon’ and er, there was a girl there who talked to me and then...” It wasn’t part of the story he’d decided on but Warlock blurted, “She was going to leave but I had a really bad feeling that I shouldn’t let her be alone!”

Harriet closed her eyes, hugging Warlock tightly to her side. “Do you have feelings like that a lot?”

“Er, sometimes? Not as strong as it was today.”

Harriet nodded thoughtfully. “So you followed her?”

“And a bad goon came out of an alleyway but she scared him off by yelling fire but then, er, another one grabbed us and tried to take us away.” Warlock swallowed down the sick feeling that the memory brought back. “But he tripped and we got away and went and hid in the bookshop. And then Mr. Cortese was there, and he punched one of the bad goons in the face and the police came, so I came back.”

Harriet let the silence draw out, and out, and out and Warlock finally said, “Mom?”

“Tell me the rest now?” When he cringed, she looked into his eyes and smiled a little. “I know you too well baby. There’s a whole lot you’re not telling me.”

“I can’t,” he said miserably. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I think I might,” she said quietly. “Your father won’t talk about it, but I remember what happened on Saturday.” She hugged him tightly again, the images of that day seared into her brain. And then it had been Sunday morning and it was like it had never happened. “And I think you had a feeling about it too.”

He stared out at the ducks and finally nodded. “I had a dream about it.”

“Did you dream about today?”

“No, not really.” Another big sigh. “You have to promise not to be mad at them.”

“Them who?”

“Mr. Cortese and Nanny.” He turned big pleading eyes up at her. “It was all my fault. If I hadn’t let Mr. Finks catch Nanny at the park-”

A chill swept through Harriet. That had been the plot that the police said never happened. To ambush them in the park- “What do you mean, _catch_ her?”

“Mr. Finks, he told me to bring Nanny to the red bench and that I’d be able to pet the ducks if I did. He said it was a game and I believed him. But when Nanny went all weird, the bad goons took us away and I didn’t get to pet the ducks but there was a big white swan and Brother Francis came and saved us. I always thought it was a nightmare but then Mr. Finks grabbed us today and I could remember him yelling at me and throwing water on me and he slapped me because I couldn’t stop crying for Nanny.” Warlock shivered at the memory, pressing a hand to his cheek.

Harriet held him tightly, her eyes pressed shut as she tried to control her breathing. Part of her wanted to scream, and the rest of her knew that it would only scare Warlock more. She could remember that day almost as clearly as last Saturday; the phone call from the police, hurrying to get home only to find Nanny and Brother Francis blocking the door, spinning some story about how nothing had happened. But things had shifted afterward, now that she thought about it. Nanny and _Francis_ had both started treating the security men with blatant disdain and even suspicion, calling them ‘goons’ and worse _before_ the investigation had revealed that three of them had been part of the conspiracy to abduct Warlock. “They lied to me.”

“They _had_ to Mom! He has _magic_ ,” he hissed. “What could you or dad do to stop him? The police didn’t even keep him in jail like Dad said they would. He’s been hurting other kids too, that’s why he was after Erica.”

“Is Erica the girl who you helped?”

“Yeah. She got caught by Finks too, the same way I remember. Maybe they shouldn’t have lied but you wouldn’t have believed them. And I wouldn’t have gotten caught this time if I hadn’t tried to find them. And I wouldn’t have gotten away if Erica hadn’t been there.” He scrubbed at his face and the tears there. “So be mad at me first.”

“Oh, I am, young man, I am quite mad at you.” She leaned away to look him in the face and said gently, “But that won’t fix what made you do this. Why didn’t you tell me? That you were missing them so much?”

“What for? You sent them away,” he said angrily. “And then you sent them away again.”

She sucked in a breath. That hit home. And then understanding hit as well. “Mr. Cortese. He was at the bookshop that Brother Francis left as a forwarding address for you. They’re the same person?”

Warlock nodded sullenly. “Their name is Aziraphale. And Nanny is Mr. Harrison. They’re called Crowley. Don’t send them away again,” he whispered, covering his face when the tears came in earnest. “They’re my friends. They need people to hold on to or they’ll be lost!”

“Honey...”

“Are you going to let Dad send me away to America?”

“No, baby, no, we’re not going to send you away.” She hugged him close and rocked him, trying to wrap her mind around what he was telling her. And around the greater implications of everything that hadn’t been said. “Warlock, did they tell you what to tell me?”

“Well, yeah. They said I _had_ to tell you even though I didn’t want to at all. So I was just going to tell you a little so that you wouldn’t be too mad, but then I told you everything anyway. Why did I do that?”

“It’s a mom superpower,” she teased, smiling faintly when he rolled his eyes. She had so many questions whizzing around in her head, and things she had always secretly believed warring with things she _knew_ couldn’t be true, but the one question she asked was, “Did er, they, really punch someone? Brother Francis?”

Warlock laughed and nodded, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah! This guy called Mr. Smith, he was really mean and he works with Mr. Finks. It was amazing, wait, I bet there’s video...” Warlock pulled out his phone and a quick search had a lot of results.

Harriet watched a few different ones, each from a different angle, and there was one of who could only be Mr. Cortese fainting into the arms of who had to be Mr. Harrison. “It _is_ them.” She swore inwardly, finding a brief article about an incident at a landmark Soho bookstore where the owner of the shop was attacked by members of a so called charity organization that had ties with notorious hate groups…

She turned off the screen of his phone, smirking when he sighed as she slipped it into her pocket. “And now we discuss consequences.”

“Yeah, they said that too.” He gave her a hopeful look. “You could call them and talk?”

“Hmm, no, I need to think about things first. And you, my boy, are very much grounded until further notice. No phone, no TV, no games. And I will be talking to Penny’s and Oleg’s parents about their part in this, though we all know who was the instigator.” When his face fell she cupped his chin. “As for you staying friends with… them, we will see. For now, we are going home to have dinner and then you are going to read to me.”

Warlock groaned, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. She didn’t say no. There was always hope if she didn’t say no. And she didn’t mention telling his dad, which was a huge relief too.

Harriet followed through on her threats, tucking him in when he fell asleep after reading only a few lines from his favorite book. From his room she went into her ‘reading room’ she called it, and sat in the big rocker that Thaddeus had bought for her when they’d found out she was pregnant. She rocked and thought, dredging up every odd feeling and off memory and even went and retrieved her old journals, rereading a few of the entries there before finally making up her mind.

She went downstairs and into the kitchen, getting herself a glass of wine. After a few sips she pulled open the junk drawer after a very brief struggle and a curse, dug around, pulling out an old emergency number list from where it was buried near the bottom. She retreated to the semi-privacy of the garden, wine and paper in hand, and froze to see two familiar silhouettes sitting at the table she’d seen them at, in one form or the other, for close to a decade. “You.”

“Hello, Mrs. Dowling,” said Mr. Cortese in the gentlest of tones. “We beg your pardon for intruding-”

She laughed at that, turning away to pace a little and then stalked back towards the table, looking between the oh so familiar faces. Now that she was looking, she could see Brother Francis in Mr. Cortese’s posture, hear him in his, in their voice. And Nanny had _recommended_ Mr. Harrison, claimed he was a cousin. “What the hell did you do to my son.”

“We have done nothing to harm Warlock. I could not harm him even if I wanted to, which I do not,” said Nanny truthfully and mostly honestly. “You laid the geas upon me yourself, Mrs. Dowling, the day I met him.”

“How he cried,” said Mr. Cortese, fading into the slightly unfamiliar form of the bookshop owner Aziraphale. “He knew, I think, that we weren’t human.”

Nanny’s shift was far more dramatic, and more frightening, because she, they, pulled off their sunglasses, revealing bright yellow eyes with slit pupils. “We have never been human.”

She stared at them both for a long time. “Why?”

“Because of what brought you all to that odd little spot in the middle east last Saturday,” said Aziraphale.

“Warlock was supposed to usher in the end of the world.”

The edges of her vision started to go gray and her knees began folding but Crowley snapped their fingers and a chair was suddenly under her, catching her. She folded over and took a few deep slow breaths. “Are, are you saying-”

“He was supposed to be the anti-christ.” Crowley looked away from her stare. “But he isn’t and he never was. I was supposed to make him evil.”

She laughed at that, and sat up, rubbing at her face but laughing again. “No, Na, C-crowley, I can’t believe that for a moment. I saw you tend him, I heard you teach him, I heard you scold him for making fun of Br-brother Francis’ teeth...” She looked at Aziraphale. “And I saw you teaching him to make faces behind the security _goons_ backs, and how to spin and spin and spin until he fell down laughing, and dunking biscuits in tea-” She pressed her hands to her face and sucked in a shuddering breath. “What are you?”

“Not your enemies.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was still looking away, stiff and still in their chair. “I don’t know that you want to know more than that. We’d like to be your friends. But we will not stay if you do not wish it. We… we can make Warlock forget us.”

“And you’re just going to go if I tell you to,” she snapped. “Just snap your fingers and _poof_ you’re gone?”

“Yesss,” said Crowley, meeting her eyes. “Just like we did a few weeks ago. He’s yours, as much as one person belongs to another, so we will abide by your word.”

Aziraphale nodded solemnly in agreement to the question in her eyes. “But he has powers and he’ll need guidance, real guiding, not the nonsense we did.”

She nodded but said again, “Tell me what you are.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who shrugged and looked away again, and turned back to Harriet. “I was an angel. I am not an angel anymore.” Another look at Crowley, this one full of emotions that flashed by almost too fast for her to process. “I walked away from heaven because Crowley convinced me that the world and all its creatures great and small deserved better than to be a fodder for the war between heaven and hell.”

She blinked and darted a look at Crowley, who was smirking bitterly, staring off into the encroaching night. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” said Crowley. “Like the angel said, it’s a good planet, interesting, didn’t want to see it destroyed. They’ll probably try again at some point, who knows when. Long after you’re dust maybe.” They shifted in their chair, clearly uncomfortable but said, “I was an angel, then a demon. I’m neither now.”

“But...” She stared at them, the angel and… the other one, sitting there side by side as they had done so often in her memory. And she remembered other nights when they hadn’t realized she was there, that she could hear them talking softly, exchanging stories or teasing banter that spoke of long friendship. The fond glances they would steal when the other wasn’t looking-- she had thought them sweet at the time but now saw a much more tragic connotation beneath the surface. _But if they’re not … anymore--_

And she thought of what her intuition had told her upon meeting them, and then meeting them again. What it was telling her now, and how it had never steered her wrong. “Stay. Please.” She could see the tension leave Aziraphale’s body as they let out a relieved breath; saw the tears in Crowley’s eyes before they hid them behind their sunglasses again. “You’re my friends too.”


	21. Sunshine Daydream (Tues)

It was well after midnight when they returned to the flat. Crowley let out a wide cracking yawn and stepped around the trap, slipping their jacket off and dropping it on the concrete bench next to the door, dropping their glasses nearby and kicking off their shoes as they shuffled towards the office.

Aziraphale hesitated by the door but finally picked up Crowley’s glasses and jacket, frowning to realize there wasn’t anywhere to hang it. With an anxious look over their shoulder towards the office they miracled up a coat hook on the wall beside the door and hung Crowley’s jacket, tucking the glasses into the front pocket. And after reminding themself that Crowley had _invited_ them, they made another hook and pulled off their own coat and hung it next to Crowley’s before following them into the office.

Crowley was sprawled on the couch, an arm over their eyes. “That’s been a day, hasn’t it.”

Aziraphale let out a snort and went over the to the desk. “More for you than I,” said Aziraphale with a faint smile in their direction. “Will, will you tell me what happened with Finks?”

“Eh, he had a few spells ready,” said Crowley dismissively, watching Aziraphale from under the cover of their arm. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“You are a very capable magic user, I never never doubted that for a moment,” Aziraphale asserted, feeling Crowley’s stare. “But you were hurt.”

Crowley pulled down their arm, and eased upright, still watching Aziraphale as they fussed by the desk. “And you feel guilty.”

“I do. Mr. Smith was, was a game. Haven’t indulged in that sort of thing since-”

“1892?” Crowley said it casually, wondering if their angel would realize Crowley had seen their fight with Lord Rust, had cheered them on as they thrashed the reprobate and sent him running to the countryside to hide for the rest of his days in shame.

Aziraphale turned then, mouth opening in a faint ‘o’ of surprise. At Crowley’s smile they answered, “Oh, I had at least a few more altercations into the early 1900s. But again, it was just a game, doing a few not nice but good deeds, seeing if, if, uh, heaven would notice. I was also doing a bit with the suffragettes so I had a female persona too. I was very good with an umbrella and a hat pin.”

Crowley laughed. “I can just imagine you wielding one like a sword.”

“That would have been a sight.” Aziraphale moved closer to the couch, unwilling to be distracted. “Crowley...”

They let out a sigh. “I forgot he could throw the net again without having to recast it. Your blessing deflected the worst of it. And you healed the last of it earlier.” Crowley pushed up their sleeves, revealing a faint crisscrossing of welts.

“Oh, my dear-” Aziraphale gasped in horror and sat beside them on the couch. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. All healed up, see?” Crowley offered their right arm, watching as Aziraphale lightly ran their fingertips over the reddened marks, pretending that it wasn’t making them feel ridiculously breathless. “Been a long time since I needed healing,” Crowley admitted, twitching their arm away with a snort. “That tickles.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled but they folded their hands demurely into their lap. “Oh, really.”

Crowley playfully pointed a warning finger at them but said, “Miracling it away didn’t work and I don’t remember any healing spells. You know, wasn’t allowed, but I figure I should relearn some.”

“When you’re rested I’ll teach you a few,” Aziraphale promised. “They’re not as powerful as miracles but miracles don’t work on those who don’t believe.”

“What is it you do?” Crowley asked. “The light?”

“Oh, er, that’s just me. Like you with hiding I suppose. We’ll discuss this when you’re rested.” They patted Crowley’s arm and pushed up from the couch, tugging nervously at their waistcoat, feeling flustered, wishing for things they knew they shouldn’t.

“You’re not tired?” Crowley asked, reluctantly pushing themself up from the couch.

“No, a long day but not nearly as draining for me as it was for you,” Aziraphale said, nodding when Crowley yawned again. “Rest as long as you need to. I don’t need to be at the shop until the afternoon for a delivery. Probably best to delay opening to let things settle down anyway.”

“Alright.” Crowley sighed when Aziraphale withdrew their outer aura. “G’night angel.”

“Good night Crowley.” Aziraphale sat at the desk when the bedroom door closed, and was about to resume working on the spell components when Crowley snatched the notebook from their hand. “What-”

“No,” Crowley said sternly. “You worked yourself to exhaustion on Sunday, let it rest another few days.”

“But-”

“Read something for fun. You can do that, can’t you? Put on some music, make some tea and just, relax, okay?” They snapped the book away, putting their hand over Aziraphale’s when they huffily went to snap it back. “Aziraphale, please, I won’t sleep if you’re going to be working yourself into a state again.”

Aziraphale stared down at Crowley’s hands clasped around theirs, and back up at the exhaustion in Crowley’s face and nodded, closing their eyes and holding on tightly when their best friend enfolded them in a hug. “That’s extortion, you know,” they murmured, smiling faintly when Crowley chuckled.

“I’ve never been above applying leverage when needed.” Crowley withdrew from the embrace with another jaw cracking yawn. “And now I know, neither are you. Now rest, or else I’ll… I’ll call Granny, eh, how d'you like them apples?”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Aziraphale said, following Crowley down the hallway. “What would you even say? Besides she’d probably tie you in knots for waking her.”

Crowley made a face and stopped in the doorway to the bedroom. “Nanny then, give her some juicy gossip to spread to the others.”

“She’s probably already thought up better on her own,” Aziraphale retorted, smiling when Crowley laughed. “Well... I shouldn’t keep you up any longer.”

“Yeah.” Neither of them moved for a moment and then they both reluctantly turned away.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale nervously rubbed their hands together and turned back to Crowley, who paused with the door half closed. “Perhaps, perhaps you’d let me, er... I’d like to, to… Would you, er, grant me the honor of grooming your wings, while you rest?” Aziraphale was offering something rather significant to Crowley while also asking for their trust; offering to watch over Crowley while they were vulnerable, while also actively doing something (tend their wings) to help them recuperate.

When Crowley just stared Aziraphale’s heart dropped and they hastily turned away. “Sorry, I’ll just-”

“Yes.” It wasn’t much above a whisper. Crowley pulled open the door when Aziraphale turned back towards them. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Crowley turned away and waved a hand, switching into their pajamas, almost afraid to look back, half expecting to see Aziraphale had changed their mind.

When they turned around Crowley found Aziraphale had not changed their mind, but they had changed their clothes, into the sleep shirt and robe, and they were twisting their hands together nervously inside the doorway. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, sure, however you’re most comfortable.” Crowley sprawled on their stomach on the right side of the bed and clicked on the heated blanket, looking away when Aziraphale cautiously climbed onto the left side of the bed. “Warm enough?”

“Oh yes, quite,” said Aziraphale, propping themself up against the wall with a pillow, clearing their throat when the silence dragged on. “Is there something you’d prefer if you, uh, if you’d rather not have me-” Crowley’s wings shimmered into being and they carefully draped their left wing over Aziraphale’s lap. “Ah.”

Crowley snapped off the lights. Again, the safety of the darkness allowed them to say things they usually wouldn’t. “You don’t have to, you know. Tend me.”

“I know.” Aziraphale let out a sigh, letting their fingers sink into the dark silky feathers and admitted, “But I want to. Best friends take care of each other, especially when they’ve been hurt.”

Crowley closed their eyes, thinking about all the times since the fall that they’d done this for one another without actually saying it. Coincidentally crossing paths, finding a safe place to rest by chance, accidentally falling asleep while the other one held vigil. And oh so rarely, owing a debt that could only be repaid by tending the other’s feathers. The hoops they had jumped through to make it all deniable, to make it all easier to pretend like nothing happened the next morning. There was a lot that had never got said, that got left purposefully unsaid. Maybe it was time to change that. “I wanted this too.”

Aziraphale’s hands stilled for a moment among the silvery storm-cloud feathers on the back of Crowley’s wing and in the hush they whispered, “Thank you for telling me.”

A sleepy hum was Crowley’s only reply.

Aziraphale happily stroked their hands through Crowley’s feathers until the tension slowly eased from their friend as they drifted into true sleep. It had been a very long time since Aziraphale had last had an excuse to tend to them while they rested, since Crowley had been tired enough to actually sleep under their care. Aziraphale hoped Crowley’s admission meant they wouldn’t have to make excuses anymore.

Wanting a distraction from their thoughts, Aziraphale shifted into a more comfortable position and summoned up a book to read (and enough light to read it by), relaxing into the familiar old story and the comfort of the contact, Crowley’s wing blanketing them in warmth as they absently soothed their hand over it.

It was close to dawn when Crowley shifted in their sleep and Aziraphale found themself hugged tightly by Crowley’s wing as it tucked in, pulling them closer together. Crowley was pressed to Aziraphale’s side and they had to close their eyes and do some deep breathing to ease the ache over their heart. To stop themself from turning into the embrace and-

“You always remind me of sssunshine.”

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open and they turned, meeting Crowley’s heavily lidded stare. “Ah,” they said shakily, trying to read Crowley’s expression, but it was oddly blank. “That explains why you’re always dozing off around me. Basking in my presence,” they teased, relieved and disappointed when Crowley closed their eyes again.

“Alwaysss,” Crowley echoed, relaxing again with their wing still tucked close around Aziraphale and it was then the reformed angel realized that they hadn’t really been awake.

Aziraphale rubbed at the sudden sting in their eyes and fled back into the story.


	22. Telly Tell All (Tuesday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Telenovela Tuesday
> 
> The streets have ears, and eyes. Whoops.

The sun was well up when Crowley finally started to wake up. Aziraphale had finished one book and was starting on another and was again caught between relief and disappointment when Crowley furled their wings back into the ether. “Good morning.”

Crowley pressed their face into their pillow and grumbled something before shifting enough to look at Aziraphale with one bleary yellow eye. “Ugh.”

“That’s right, you never have been much of a morning person, have you?” asked Aziraphale, setting aside their book and giving Crowley a fond knowing smile. “You missed out on a lovely sunrise.”

“Enough with the perky, angel,” they grumbled and immediately closed their eyes with amused regret, knowing they’d messed up the moment the words slipped out.

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, pouring on the jolly, their wicked grin coming through in their voice. “Someone’s woken up on the wrong side of the bed! Rise and shine, Anthony ‘J that’s really just an ampersand’ Crowley! The new day is a great big fish!”

“Bastard,” Cowley growled, laughing as they pressed their face back into the pillow. They extended their outer aura towards Aziraphale and reached out and gently shoved at Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Go ‘way.”

Aziraphale mingled their outer aura with Crowley’s and continued to tease. “And leave my dearest friend to sulk about in bed? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly-” Aziraphale saw the pillow coming of course, and laughed, rolling out of the way and off the bed. “I suppose I could take mercy on you and fix some tea.” A snap of their fingers had Aziraphale dressed, their sleep clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. “Alright?”

“Thanks,” Crowley grumbled, watching through slitted eyes as Aziraphale gave them a playful smile and slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind themself. Feeling foolish but unable to resist, Crowley pressed their face into Aziraphale’s pillow and inhaled the scent of spring and sunlight their angel always seemed to radiate, eyes popping open in horror. “Sshit!” It had to be a dream, right? They wouldn’t have _really_ wrapped their wing around Aziraphale and said that thing about sunshine, right?

Crowley bolted from the bed and quickly dressed but stopped themself from following Aziraphale to the kitchen. Asking would just make it awkward, no matter what had really happened. _It’s fine, everything’s fine_ , Crowley repeated like a mantra, avoiding the kitchen to go into the office, snapping on the TV in hopes of a distraction.

Aziraphale puttered about in the kitchen, looking in the cabinets as they waited for the water to boil, curious why Crowley bothered to keep so many things they clearly had no use for or interest in. Who were they trying to impress? Aziraphale then recalled the ‘art’ and blushingly shut the cabinet doors and decided that it had to have been to impress the demons, and focused on making the tea. The kettle had just finished heating up when Crowley called, “Angel?!” and Aziraphale awe-stepped into the office.

“What’s wrong?”

Crowley gave them a wide eyed stare and pointed at the TV, where a grainy video from street surveillance was being described by one of the newscasters. “We can see here the two children being menaced by a man, later identified as Reginald Noble, and then grabbed by another man identified as Septimus Finks who has been the spokesperson of the 14th South Street Charity for the last three years. The video is blocked by this lorry but we see the children somehow escape and do in fact enter the bookshop.”

“Damn.”

“And I thought archangels were bad about spying,” Crowley said.

The video went on to show Mr. Finks kneeling by the door to the shop for an extended time, flanked by the two goons, before the windows suddenly lit up and Mr. Finks was knocked backwards. “The police think Finks fired off some sort of incendiary device in order to scare the children out of the shop, but it apparently backfired. There was some minor damage reported inside the shop, and no sign of the children, who are thought to have escaped into the small access alley in the back. No children matching their descriptions have been reported missing but the police are seeking to identify them.”

One of the other newscasters added. “An anonymous source tells us that this building and the current owner, a Dr. A. Z. Fell, have a mysterious reputation in the neighborhood and that the building is, of course, haunted. Perhaps the children were ghosts?”

There were some weak chuckles and the first newscaster continued the story. “The confrontation between Dr. A. Z. Fell and Mr. Finks was filmed by several bystanders, as was the later altercation with Mr. Smith, all of whom could not be reached for comment. And that probably would have been the end of it except the authorities have released another piece of surveillance that shows a trio of unidentified men approaching the bookshop at around 1 am this morning, clearly intending some sort of mischief.”

They let the video play, showing a grainy image of a trio of goons dressed in dark clothes walking purposefully towards the door to the shop along one sidewalk, and a man stumbling along as though drunk from the other direction. They all reached the door at the same time and the single man waved and started talking as he lurched about, seemingly oblivious of the very obvious danger he was in. One of the men lunged just as the man stumbled up the steps, seemingly discovering by accident a broom that had been left behind one of the pillars and knocking down the lunger with a single seemingly accidental blow. It was barely a minute later when the sweeper was wandering away, using the broom to keep themself upright and the trio were on the ground holding various parts of their body as they rolled around in agony.

“The police would like the public to keep an eye out for these three men, who are likely in need of medical attention after their attempted assault on a broom wielding drunk?” laughed the second newscaster as the fallen men finally got up and limped away.

Crowley flicked to another station, which was showing a recent photo of Mr. Finks posing in front of the ‘charity’ during the opening. The newscaster was saying, “Septimus Finks is wanted for questioning by the authorities and the public is warned to keep their distance. He was last seen yesterday afternoon outside of the A. Z. Fell and Co. bookshop, where the proprietor of the shop, a Dr. A. Z. Fell, confronted him and two other men and later had an altercation with a man known as Edward Smith. Mr. Smith, it has come to light, is thought to be the defacto leader of the 14th South Street Charity, which is currently under investigation-”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged another look as Crowley flicked off the television. “Prob’ly best you not go in ‘til later.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Aziraphale returned to the kitchen as they considered what they’d seen. “I do hope Erica will stay at home today. I have a feeling some of Smith’s associates will be prowling around.”

Crowley followed, offering, “We could try calling her?”

“She doesn’t have a mobile.” Aziraphale wringed their hands. “What should we do?”

“She’s probably seen the news,” said Crowley. “But we can go to the shop if you’re worried. ‘Snot like you’ve got to open up to customers if you don’t want to.”

“True. I know you’re not one for crowds so I’ll leave you to your rest.” Aziraphale smiled faintly when Crowley gave them a look that clearly said otherwise. “Crowley, there’s likely to be a lot of people...”

“Yeah, and?” They stalked out of the kitchen towards the mostly unused front room, startled to find their jacket hung up, Aziraphale’s nestled beside it, but they played it cool, slipping the jacket on and checking the pocket for the compass before pulling down Aziraphale’s and holding it out for them. “I’m not leaving you to deal with that alone, so.”

Aziraphale let Crowley help them into their coat, touching their arm to stop them before they could open the door. “You can leave- fine, hide yourself, if it gets to be too much. I’ll understand completely.”

“Alright.” Crowley slid their hand into Aziraphale’s. “And I’ll hide us both if we need it.”

Aziraphale smiled gratefully and took a small delight in saying, “Thank you.”

They took the bus to the shop to keep the Bentley away from any more possible trouble. When they reached Aziraphale’s neighborhood they both quickly realized that there were pairs of locals casually walking around, clearly keeping an eye out for more troublemakers. With the locals patrolling and without any obvious reporters or police hanging about, Aziraphale decided to risk opening the shop to the public. Crowley took their usual place on the couch and settled in to the shadows, not quite hiding but not exactly making themself known either. It was an acquired skill, lurking, but Crowley had honed it to an art over the millennia.

The shop was quite a bit busier than usual, but most of those stopping in actually bought books and those who knew Aziraphale clearly came to check in and make sure they were okay, and to chat of course. There were some curiosity seekers who poked about a little too pointedly, but when Aziraphale didn’t do anything beside drink tea and chat with customers they quickly grew bored and left.

Mrs. Chan was the first of the neighbors to stop by during a convenient lull, and she came bearing pastries and a startling and unfamiliar whirl of magic around her when she stepped into range. “Hello Aziraphale, dear! Brought your favorites.” Her eyes darted towards Crowley, who canted their head to realize that she had actually noticed them. “Plenty to share with your friend.”

Aziraphale quickly shook off their surprise. “Oh, you didn’t have to,” they said, accepting the box and giving an appreciative sniff after opening it. “But I am delighted that you did.” They sent a wordless inquiry to Crowley, asking without asking if they were interested in being introduced, beaming when Crowley nodded and stood up to pour a cup of tea for Louise. As was only proper, Aziraphale held out the box towards Louise first, who took one of the pastries and accepted the cup of tea from Crowley. “I don’t think you’ve formally met them before, Louise, but this is my best friend Crowley.”

“Hello,” she said, raising the cup in greeting. “I’ve seen you about, haven’t I?”

“Oh, probably,” said Crowley, eating one of the pastries in a few quick bites and flopping back onto the couch. “We’ve been friends for a long time, me and Aziraphale. You own the grocery around the corner, right?”

“I do, with my husband Lee. We’re quite fond of the area and all its quirky inhabitants.” She nodded when she saw understanding on Crowley’s face and turned back to Aziraphale, smiling gently at the slightly confused look they were wearing. “Grandmother always loved telling us stories about you and the bookshop.” She took a bite of her pastry, watching Aziraphale sidelong. “She especially loved reminiscing with Lu-tze about the thrashing you gave Lord Rust.”

Aziraphale blinked a bit as confusion morphed into worry, and darted a look at Crowley, who had gone thoughtfully still. “Oh, you mean my, er, great grand… uncle?”

“Right,” she said blandly, taking a sip of her tea. “Uncanny family resemblance. You’ve really inherited their, hmm, everything, haven’t you? Just like cousin Lu-tze in that sense. Not that he’s really my cousin, but he’s known the family for so long, how can he really be anything else? I’d say the same goes for you, dear.”

Aziraphale set down their teacup with only a little rattle, twisting their fingers together as they tried to figure out what to say. “Er, Mrs. Chan-”

“Aw, don’t go all formal on me now, Aziraphale,” she scolded, holding out her empty cup for a refill, smiling as they absently moved to fulfill their role as host. “You’ve known me since I was a baby. You’ve probably known us all since we were babies.”

“Since the world was a baby,” mumbled Crowley, shrugging when Aziraphale shot them a look. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? We don’t have to hide anymore.” They wiggled their fingers, taking a bite out of the pastry that appeared in their hand. “Thought I noticed some magic going on around here.”

Louise nodded. “My many times over great grandmother was a witch of sorts. She had a series of visions that eventually brought her and her family here, just barely escaping-- well, a lot of things. Those in power are rarely willing to let go of those who they see as useful tools, as I’m sure you both well know.”

“Unfortunately,” agreed Aziraphale lowly, still trying to get their equanimity back. They had thought they’d been keeping their secret very well, and for the most part they had. But witches and even wizards tend to pay a little more attention than the average person. And once word gets around, guided by the ones who know all too well about actual witch hunts, well then, that uncanny freak that might have caused fear becomes _our_ unusual being who’s really just the sweetest and don’t you forget it.

They all went quiet when the door opened, but the curiosity seeker took one look at the three of them and walked right back out. They shared a chuckle and Louise continued her story. “She brought as much as she could with her when they moved here, pieced together what was lost with the others who escaped. And the world’s changed a lot since then, for the better in most ways. Now I teach the little ones the way Grandmother taught me and we continue to adapt to the times.”

“Your ancestor, she, er, didn’t by chance write any of her prophecies down, did she?” asked Aziraphale, making a face at Crowley when they snorted. “Hush you.”

“You can’t just go around asking to rifle through other people’s prophecies the minute you meet them, angel,” Crowley teased, making Louise laugh.

“I’m afraid she did not. But I can show you part of what the vision was.” Her smile went a little sly when Aziraphale nodded, and she pulled out the store’s flier from Aziraphale’s newspaper, pointing to the medallion that had adorned their shop since the earliest days. It was a black and red Chinese dragon on the lower right and a golden-bronze Chinese phoenix on the upper left. When the door opened again she got up and kissed Aziraphale fondly on the cheek. “We’ll talk more when things calm down. Just wanted you to know we’re watching out for you Both of you.”

Aziraphale absently chatted with the customers that had come in while Crowley retreated back into the shadows, both of them throwing the occasional glance at the medallion and at each other but there was never enough of a lull to discuss it, and then there seemed little point.

A little after one they escaped for lunch at the café, relieved to find no one paying them any undue attention as they lingered over their meal. It was close to two when they returned to the shop and dealt with a steady stream of visitors until four, when Rose arrived right on time and Aziraphale had the door already propped open for her.

“Hey Aziraphale,” she said, pulling the box from her van, “only one box for you today.”

“Yes, it’s been a rather slow week. Might I offer you a cup of tea?” Aziraphale offered hopefully.

“I’d love one. Time for my break anyway.”

Rose followed them inside and around the bookcase and since she was hoping they were there, noticed Crowley right away. “Hello, I’m Rose, one of Aziraphale’s little herd,” she said with a laugh, offering Crowley her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, er, Crowley. Likewise.” They leaned back into the couch and asked, “Herd?”

She smiled at Aziraphale, who gave her a fond slightly put upon look and poured her some tea and popped open the tin of biscuits. “Neighborhood kids who used the shop as a safe place. There’s always a herd of them in every neighborhood, thrown together by geography and chance. We were lucky, never had any of the really bad stuff go on around here, but there’s enough little bad stuff in the world that a sanctuary proved useful. Like it did yesterday.”

“Yeah, most people don’t realize Aziraphale’s a bit of a momma bear,” said Crowley, giving Aziraphale a fond smirk when they rolled their eyes. “Great hugs, rip the face off anyone who messes with the kids.”

“It was hardly ‘face-ripping’,” sniffed Aziraphale, taking a sip of their tea, their eyes crinkled with humor as Rose grinned.

“No, this was a bit more cat and mouse,” she said, savoring the biscuit she was eating. “They never taste as good as when I’m in your shop,” she told Aziraphale, smiling when their eyes went soft. “A lot of good memories in here. We were all pretty devastated when it burned down.” She took another sip of her tea, looking between Aziraphale and Crowley when they both went still.

“Well, uh, yes, that would be devastating but since it isn’t actually burned down,” said Aziraphale with a nervous chuckle, “that’s alright then, right?”

“Yeah.” She nodded her head and stared into her tea. “But I saw it. We all saw it. Smoking, burned out husk, the whole street covered in ash and little bits of paper. And no one had seen you come out, no one could find you.” She looked up then, pressing the handkerchief Aziraphale handed her against her eyes. “Some of us were here when you ran into a burning building,” she said lowly to Crowley, who nodded and frowned down into their own cup. “Saw you come back out again, alone.”

Aziraphale gently rested a hand over hers. “I am so sorry, Rose. I thought, I hoped, that with things having been undone, it would be easier to forget-”

“No one’s going to forget,” she said with a laugh. “How can we forget the bookshop burning down and being pretty sure you were dead? But then it didn’t, and you weren’t? I mean, it’s like, easier to _pretend_ it didn’t happen, but forget, no.” She drank more of her tea. “And none of us would have mentioned it but then the _Sweeper_ showed up. He only been seen like three times since the Blitz, but everyone knows about him and everyone knows things are going to get _interesting_ when the Sweeper shows up. And then yesterday happened.”

“Yeah, yesterday was something,” agreed Crowley, smirking when she laughed.

“The herd tries to keep in touch with each other and when Jenny Chan sent out a picture of the the Sweeper talking with her parents, we all came home as fast as we could.” She shrugged. “I don’t think any of us knew what to expect. But I’m really glad I got to be there for your performance,” she teased, mimicking Aziraphale’s dramatic wrist-to-forehead move. “The whole thing was great.”

Aziraphale blushed but gave her a little smile. “It’s not something I indulge in often, but it seemed necessary after everything. But, er, what am I going to say to, oh, oh dear, do all of the kids-”

“It’s alright, the whole herd already knew you were some kind of cryptid.”

“Cryptid?”

“An _occult_ being,” Crowley clarified, grinning at Aziraphale’s annoyed expression.

Rose shrugged and nodded when Aziraphale looked at her for confirmation. “Yeah, pretty much. I mean, maybe not _Sweeper_ levels of cryptid, but up there. Magical at any rate.”

Aziraphale shot Crowley a warning look when they snorted at that but asked, “Does this mean we’ll have to worry about people trying to prove we’re these _cryptids_?”

She shook her head. “Nah, lots of famous people get called cryptids and immortals as a joke now, or just outright claim it themselves. But, uh, you do know there’s video of everything that happened yesterday, right?” she asked, relieved when they both nodded. “I mean, you’ll probably get a lot of customers for a while and maybe a couple of twits who want to fight you, but you didn’t do anything that screams of being magical. But I’ve got to ask, is the shop haunted? I don’t remember it ever feeling that way?”

“Goodness, no, I couldn’t let some poor spirit remain at unrest here.” Aziraphale nibbled on a biscuit, and shook their head. “Ectoplasm on my books, can you imagine? Perish the thought.”

Crowley laughed at the little glimmer they could see in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Only you’d think to catch a ghost just to give it a good scolding for improper book handling.”

“Well, as long as they’re polite, I imagine even ghosts and ghouls will be safe from me.” Aziraphale’s smile softened a little at the hopeful expression on Rose’s face as she glanced sidelong at Crowley and darted a look back at them. “Hmm. So how’s your mother doing?”

Rose’s face lit up. “She watched everything from her window,” she said. “Your performance had her in tears and she actually called me last night and we had a really nice conversation, so,” she leaned over and gave Aziraphale’s cheek a kiss. “Thank you for working another miracle on my behalf.”

Aziraphale laughed her words away. “It wasn’t me who convinced your mother that she misses you this time, she figured that out all on her own.”

Rose made a not really believing sound and shrugged. “You sent her flowers again.”

“Of course I sent her flowers, she was hit by a car!” Aziraphale glared when Crowley snorted out a laugh. “It’s not funny, she was hurt rather badly.”

“No, no, I wasn’t laughing at that, really angel,” Crowley scolded in annoyance, cheeks going pink when they caught the knowing look Rose was giving them. “I was there when you ordered them, remember?” They smirked at Aziraphale’s sheepish expression and asked Rose, “Did they tell you what the flowers mean?”

Rose looked between them, her smile turning into a grin. “No...”

“What was it? Something along the lines of, ‘Sorry you were hurt, get better soon, quit being a twit, get over it, and remember your daughter’, right?”

“Remember your love for your daughter,” Aziraphale corrected, smiling and shrugging at Rose’s laugh. “Yes, well, I doubt she recognized the message in the flowers. She came to it naturally, as I knew she would.”

Rose reluctantly put down her cup and pushed up from the chair. “I should get back to work. Oh, wait, almost forgot.” She pulled out the work tablet for Aziraphale to sign. “Twice in a row now. Maybe your curse is finally lifted,” she said, darting another meaningful look at Crowley and wagging her eyebrows.

Aziraphale frowned but their eyes crinkled with laughter as they pressed some money into her hand and waved her away. “Good bye Rose, I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Bye Aziraphale, bye Crowley, see you.”

When the door was closed behind her, Crowley asked, “So did you miracle her mother?”

“No, neither time.” Aziraphale sighed and took another biscuit. “Mrs. Anthony had a fight with Rose when she was caught kissing a girl and Rose ran here and camped out on the couch a for few weeks. Mrs. Anthony found out and came to yell at me, for enabling that sort of behavior and how if Rose didn’t change then she would be dead to the family so on. What I wanted to do was give the woman a good shake but it wouldn’t have helped matters any so instead I had a funeral wreath sent to their apartment along with a rather scathing letter. She was just making them both hurt and I hate when people do that and I probably got a bit carried away but really, abandoning your child because of something so inconsequential!”

“A funeral wreath, really?” Crowley laughed and shook their head. “Obviously it worked.”

“It did. And not long before the hit and run, Rose let slip that she and her partner are both ‘godless heathens’ as they put it which set off another confrontation. I didn’t try to intervene this time because I knew Mrs. Anthony would eventually get over it. Also, I don’t think she ever quite forgave me for the wreath.”

“No, I wonder why, publicly shaming her like that. You must have been mad, if you didn’t,” finger waggle, “her after her accident.”

“Oh, but I did. I kept her from dying,” Aziraphale admitted. “That day I kept you waiting, I was at the hospital with Rose.”

Crowley leaned forward and murmured, “You should’ve told me.”

A sad little shrug. “I know. I just thought you’d think me silly, becoming attached.” Aziraphale sighed when Crowley frowned and changed the subject. “So do we have to worry about this cryptid thing?”

Crowley smirked at Aziraphale’s unsubtle effort to get away from an uncomfortable subject. “Nah. Besides, we _are_ cryptids. Anyone that tries anything with us is going to end up with a nasty surprise.”

The door to the shop opened and they dropped the subject as there was another little rush of activity. Aziraphale had just sent off the latest customer and was sitting back down when an American woman barged into the empty shop and started calling out, “Dr. Fell?!” Aziraphale rolled their eyes, smirking to notice Crowley had vanished in self defense.

“Lucky,” Aziraphale mumbled, rubbing a hand over their face. “Hello Mrs. Grimm, I’m by the desk.”

She came farther into the bookshop, pausing under the skylight to show her lightly tanned skin in the best light and tossed her artfully dyed blond hair over her shoulder. “Oh Dr. Fell, thank goodness you’re unharmed!” She gracefully moved closer, leaning over to reveal a multicolor beaded necklace adorned with a coin-sized golden glass bauble, clearly meant to draw the eye downward, and patted Aziraphale’s arm, brows lifted faintly in concern. “I just saw the news and I could not believe my eyes!”

“Oh? Couldn’t you? I thought you were putting yourself on, what was it, a media cleanse?” said Aziraphale mildly, sighing when Karen sat herself down and helped herself to the last of the tea. It wasn’t that Aziraphale had a problem with Americans, most of whom were lovely people and Aziraphale knew that what constituted good manners were often different in different places and that faux pas should not be held against those who didn’t know better. No, the real problem was Karen and her soul sucking personality.

Karen toyed with the golden bauble, sighing a little when Aziraphale paid little mind to it or the endowments underneath. “Oh, well, when I overheard Pam talking about how you had gotten attacked, I just couldn’t believe it and had to see for myself. And I just had to come over and make sure you were really all right! Really, Dr. Fell, what were you thinking? And after fainting just a little while earlier! You could have done yourself irreparable harm! I have been just an utter wreck.”

Aziraphale pulled out a box of tissues when she started fanning her eyes and knew there would be no getting rid of her until she was ready to go. “I’ll make us some more tea, shall I? Help settle your nerves.”

“Oh, thank you darling, you really are ever so kind,” she gushed, drinking her tea and pulling out a wad of tissues to dab at her eyes. She waited until Aziraphale was in the back to freshen her lipstick, using the cover of the water running to scoot her chair closer to Aziraphale’s desk, craning her neck to try to read the papers that were laying about.

Crowley watched with curious amusement, already knowing exactly what the woman was playing at. The real question was why Aziraphale was willing to put up with her, and how this visit was going to play out.

Aziraphale returned with a fresh pot of tea, pouring more for both of them before returning to their seat. “I’m sorry seeing the recordings upset you Mrs. Grimm-”

“Oh, Dr. Fell, please, how many times must I insist you call me Karen?”

“At least once more, madam, as I am but a vassal of society’s social graces,” said Aziraphale with feigned gallantry. Aziraphale had known the moment they’d met at a charity event that there was no way on the good green earth that they would give her permission to use one of their given names, not even a pseudonym. Something was off about her, but since they couldn’t sense any magic around her they’d just kept shrugging it off and doing their best to avoid spending time alone with her. They fervently hoped someone, anyone, would come into the shop and distract her before she got really settled in.

“You really are the most chivalrous man, Dr. Fell.” She dabbed at her eyes and leaned towards Aziraphale in a conspiratorial manner. “That’s the real reason why I want to talk to you. You’re just too tenderhearted to see it but I’m afraid your kind and generous nature is being taken advantage of.”

Aziraphale frowned, thinking, _Yes, madam, it certainly is_ , but said instead, “I’m not sure I understand, Mrs. Grimm. I had hoped you would want to finish discussing the sale of your husband’s properties? The preservation society is really hoping you will accept their offer.”

Karen frowned in annoyance but shook her head. “No, this is far more important than _property_ , Dr. Fell. It’s…” She looked around and leaned even closer, resting her hand on Aziraphale’s. “It’s about your lady friend.”

Aziraphale blinked down at her well manicured hand and back up into her wide doe-like eyes and understood then that Mrs. Karen Grimm, poor young grieving widow who was ‘ _far too distraught and confused to deal with everything_ ’ on her own, was trying to lay the groundwork for catching herself a new husband. And she had apparently decided that Crowley was competition. “Friend?”

Crowley bit their lip, almost laughing out loud to see Aziraphale’s expression shift as they realized what the woman was really after. _Oh, angel, what have you gotten yourself into?_

“The one who’s been slinking about for the past week or so? You were acting quite the gallant towards her in the video,” said Karen, her voice full of chiding concern, as though Aziraphale had let her down in some way. “No, please, Dr. Fell, it’s so painfully obvious what’s really going on, especially to someone on the outside,” said Karen, holding up a hand when Aziraphale tried to protest. “Especially to me,” she said huskily. “I’ve been in your place, Dr. Fell. And anyone with sense can see your heart’s desire, can see how you are just _pining_ , just _aching_ for what has been denied to you for so long. It just breaks my heart, darling, to see you _yearning_ for sweet babies of your very own.”

A wheeze of laughter escaped Crowley before they could stop it and Aziraphale quickly threw a quieting charm over them when Karen turned around to stare at the seemingly vacant couch. “Yearning,” echoed Aziraphale, simply astounded, doing their best to ignore the mirth flooding through the bond. “For _babies_?”

“What was that noise?” she asked, still staring at the couch.

“Oh, well, buildings this old, quite prone to ghosts,” said Aziraphale distractedly. “ _Babies_?”

“Obviously, why else would you have behaved so ridiculously? Really though, darling, calling the police was the only proper solution. A respected business owner and dignified gentleman such as yourself shouldn’t be scuffling in the street like a common hooligan,” she scolded, tapping their hand with surprising force. “Especially with your fragile health! It just isn’t right.”

 _Ah, yes, the two most important qualities in a future spouse; great wealth and ill health,_ thought Aziraphale, wondering if Crowley was going to be the first celestial to discorporate themself from laughing. The reformed angel was desperately trying to think of a way to salvage the situation with Karen and it didn’t help knowing Crowley was howling with amusement. It really didn’t help that Aziraphale wanted to howl along with them at the ridiculousness of it. _Babies? Why babies??_ “Right, my dodgy spleen. Whatever was I thinking,” Aziraphale said dryly, taking a sip of their tea.

“I know how wonderful it feels to finally be free of someone who only causes you pain. It can make you do the silliest things.” She gestured to Aziraphale’s empty pinky finger when they frowned in confusion. “I overheard Charlie talking about your very public breakup.”

“My, er-” Aziraphale was very glad that they couldn’t see or hear Crowley’s reaction to that.

“I do understand how the freedom can go to a person’s head. Sadly, that’s why Mr. Grimm proposed to me and I only realized it after it was too late. So darling, please, believe me when I tell you it will only cause you heartache, thinking you’ve fallen for someone just because it’s nice to feel needed. In hoping they will one day return your feelings when, at most, all they can really feel towards you is gratitude.” She leaned towards them again, toying with the golden bauble as she rested her hand over Aziraphale’s and asked with that same condescending concern, “Is that really what you want? To end up heartbroken over someone who sees a relationship with you as an obligation? As a debt to be paid?”

Crowley was not at all amused anymore. They’d seen Gaslight, they recognized the nasty undermining tactics the archangels and other abusers like to use. Beneath their glasses, Crowley’s eyes began to glow.

Aziraphale was stunned that they had been so clueless as to how awful the woman really was, and at how painfully close to the heart her words had struck. It took a few tries for them to clear their throat and say, “Mrs. Grimm, you are quite mistaken.”

“Yesss,” hissed Ms. Nenna Ashtoreth in Karen’s ear, smiling nastily as the woman flung herself out of the chair with a startled yelp. “Quite mistaken.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” Karen gasped. She gave the other woman a quick once over and shivered, completely unnerved by her. “I mean, you gave me quite a shock!”

“Did I? How dreadful,” Nenna murmured. “I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?”

“No, no, nothing that can’t wait, my dear. I always have time for you,” said Aziraphale with a relieved smile, standing up and holding out a hand to her. They blushed profusely when she took it and pressed a quick chaste kiss to their cheek in greeting.

“Do introduce me to your guest, angel,” said Nenna, keeping hold of their hand and settling herself quite neatly into Karen’s vacated chair.

“Oh, er, um, Mrs. Grimm, this is my dearest friend, Ms. Ashtoreth. Nenna, this is Mrs. Karen Grimm. I believe I told you about her? Her poor husband passed on just a few months ago.” :And she’s been a thorn in my side ever since.:

“Oh yes, how tragic for you,” Nenna said in the same condescending tone as Karen had been using. “Set adrift in the world without your husband’s guiding hand, and at such a vulnerable age. How lucky that an angel was willing to take pity on you and help you back onto your feet when you weren’t strong enough to stand on your own. Of course, he wouldn’t want you to feel _obligated_ for his kindnesses, not when he acted purely in the spirit of _charity_.”

“Well, I was taught one should always be charitable to the elderly and widows and other unfortunates,” agreed Aziraphale while Karen spluttered, being very rude by leaving her standing and sitting back down. “Rather old fashioned of me, I suppose,” they said with a chuckle, pouring Nenna a cup of tea. “Biscuit, dear?”

“It’s so rare to find someone who exemplifies that sort of selfless generosity these days,” said Nenna, accepting the tea and taking her time selecting a biscuit. “Which makes it a damned shame, when people try to take advantage of the kindness of others. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Grimm?”

“Yes, yes I would,” Karen said stiffly, looking down her nose at Nenna. “Which is exactly why I came to talk to Dr. Fell today. Some people just look at the world through rose colored glasses, and they need to be protected by those of us who see it like it is.” She gave Aziraphale another doe-eyed look and clutched at the golden bead. “Think about what I said, Dr. Fell and we’ll talk soon.”

“Good day, Mrs. Grimm,” said Aziraphale, letting out a tired sigh of relief when the door closed behind her. “I thought she would never leave.”

“Me neither,” Nenna agreed, glaring at the door and fading back into their usual self as they stopped making an effort. They looked at Aziraphale over the top of their glasses and they sat staring at one another for a long moment as Crowley’s lips began turning up into an unholy grin.

“Babies?!” Aziraphale exclaimed as Crowley broke back into raucous laughter. “Why in the world would she think I-I-I just can’t even fathom where, I mean, _babies_? Of all the things to come up with-”

“Oh, heaven, angel, if you hadn’t covered for me I would have blown it,” gasped Crowley, making Aziraphale start laughing again. “The look on your face when you realized.”

“How was I supposed to know? It was one thing in the clubs, all those young folks, but she’s a widow! Her husband’s only been dead a few months!”

“Oh, modern times angel, black widows go a hunting before the current one’s even cold,” said Crowley, not quite joking as they glared towards the door again. “Why are you putting up with her?”

“Because she is now the sole owner of a third of the buildings on this block and the local preservation society wants to make sure she doesn’t sell them to some awful gentrifying developer. They’re not in the best condition but they could be preserved and modernized and-” Aziraphale broke off at the fond smirk Crowley was giving them. “But she’s been dithering over selling and I’ve been at my wit’s end. And then the world was going to end and it didn’t matter.”

“Well, you won’t have to deal with her alone anymore,” Crowley said, getting up and returning to their spot on the couch. “But you’d better teach me a healing spell or two, in case I get carried away the next time I see her. Could get you even more business if you like,” Crowley joked.

Aziraphale rolled their eyes. “You wouldn’t dare. But here, let me show you one of the simpler ones while we’ve got a moment...”

They had enough time before the next customer to get through one healing spell, and after that it was somewhat busy. Neither Erica nor any of the other kids made an appearance and by the time night and the clouds rolled in, Aziraphale and Crowley were both more than ready to close the shop. “Well, hopefully now things will go back to normal,” said Aziraphale, locking the door and sitting back in their chair with a relieved sigh. “I would really like a little bit of normal again.”

“That’d be nice,” Crowley agreed. “What’s normal?” They smirked when Aziraphale gave them an annoyed look. “I mean it though, the last decade was pretty, eh, odd. What do you mean by normal?”

“Oh, er.” Aziraphale thought it over as Crowley stalked over to pour them both glasses of wine. When they were seated again Aziraphale answered shyly, “I mean what we’ve been doing. Spending time together. Working towards keeping _them_ at bay.” They swirled the wine in their glass and looked at Crowley through their lashes. “Not hiding that we’re friends.”

Crowley gritted their teeth but the sharp-edged words that had been circling in their head all afternoon slipped out anyway. “Even though we don’t have anything in common?” They instantly regretted it, regretted the smile slipping away from Aziraphale’s face as they returned to staring into their wine.

“You must know I didn’t mean it,” Aziraphale said lowly with a feeling a dread. How they hated confrontations, hated the little voice that said _this time_ it would end for real, and it would all be their own fault.

“Didn’t you? Felt like you meant it.” _Why do you do this? Just let it be!_ Crowley lurched up off of the couch to pace away then back again, pulling off their glasses. “Like when you told me you didn’t know where the anti-christ was. I didn’t sense a lie.”

Aziraphale looked up into Crowley’s eyes and saw that they somehow knew the truth already. It was almost a relief to admit, “Because I can hide my lies. As long as it seems believable.” They took a deep drink, bracing themself for the inevitable withdrawal for yet another betrayal.

“Really.” There was a small sense of relief, to have Aziraphale admit it so readily. They had long suspected that they could somehow keep others from sensing outright lies, because Aziraphale had always been terrible at evasions that they didn’t get a good run-up to. But it had never really occurred to Crowley, until Warlock’s uncanny warning, that Aziraphale might be lying to them. But knowing the truth did nothing to ease Crowley’s annoyance with themself, for having to push and prod instead of letting things be.

“It even works on archangels.” It was a sad attempt at humor, at deflecting, but Aziraphale still wanted to make their friend smile, even if part of them expected fatalistically that it would be the last time.

Crowley let out a bark of laughter. “I wondered about that. There were so many times we almost got caught and you never explained how you smoothed things over.”

Aziraphale took another drink and shrugged. “Not very angelic, is it, being able to hide your lies from other angels. Not something to be proud of.”

“Am I really as gullible as an archangel though?” It was eye-opening and in an odd way reassuring, to think back and see all of Aziraphale’s little tells coming through all the times in retrospect they knew their friend had been lying to their face. “Damn, I am. You’re terrible at lying to me. That’s what I get for forgetting you’re as much of a bastard as I am.”

“Of course I’m not good at it,” said Aziraphale hoarsely. “Good lies require not feeling awful about saying them. In making yourself believe that they’re true enough.” Aziraphale took another drink and summoned the bottle to refill the empty glass. “How, how did you figure it out?”

“Warlock. He went all uncanny the day he found out Nanny and Francis were leaving.” Crowley looked at their friend, their so-much-more-than-a-friend and admitted, “He told me I needed to hold on to you and never let go.” Crowley nodded when Aziraphale looked up in surprise. “And I told him you want me to let go sometimes. And he said, ‘ _Lies, foolish lies_ ,’ and the words have echoed in my skull every time you’ve been nasty since.” Aziraphale looked away in shame and Crowley said, “I should’ve listened to him at the bandstand.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a fool.” Surely now they would walk away. Now they’d seen the truth and-

“So how do you do it? Can you show me? Be blessed useful if I could learn that. Would’ve made giving reports in hell of a lot less stressful.” Thankfully the sense only worked in close proximity or Crowley would have been caught out a lot sooner. Not that demons would be caught dead checking if another demon was being truthful. Lying was part of the job description after all. So the lesson was to not get caught checking _or_ lying. Some of hell’s perverseness was really a blessing in disguise and Crowley had learned the art of rhetoric and masking their expressions a very long time ago.

Aziraphale blinked and glanced up, some of the tension lessening to see Crowley holding out their hand. Aziraphale took it, pulling on their power so that Crowley would feel it through their still mingled auras and the bond. Thinking of a lie they might believe was easy enough, since they’d believed it the first time. Aziraphale stared down at the floor and murmured, “We don’t have anything in common, though, do we? Modern vs antique, quick wits vs plodding intellect. You’re all fast ideas, fast cars, fast music-”

The underlying meaning was even clearer with physical contact than they could usually sense. _Look how different we are,_ their friend was saying in that bitingly cool and polite tone of voice they could use so devastatingly. W _hy would we be friends? How could we possibly be friends? My tastes are far more refined and superior to yours._ Crowley scowled, because even knowing Aziraphale was lying and doing _something_ with their power to cover it up, the words felt terribly, painfully, _honest_.

Aziraphale looked back up at Crowley and spoke the rest without hiding the truth. “And I’ve barely moved an inch since you left me behind in Paris. N0, we’re better off apart.”

And like a burning blade across the senses, the real meaning beneath their words and the pain that came with it. _Look how dynamic you are and how stagnant I am. Why would you want to be my friend? You deserve so much better. How will I survive when you leave me again?_ Crowley sucked in a hissing breath at the shock of it.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale’s voice quavered and they tried to withdraw their hand but Crowley came with it, going to their knees and enfolding them in a hug and Aziraphale held on tightly. “Unforgivable, I know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley hissed, still processing what had come through with Aziraphale’s words. The rest of Warlock’s warning echoed in their mind, _They lose their way without you._ “What do you mean, you haven’t moved an inch?” Crowley pulled away when Aziraphale let out a harsh laugh. “I’m serious.”

“Look at me!” Aziraphale waved a hand, taking in themself and the book shop with one gesture. “Nothing’s changed in 200 years! I tried for a while, but then-” They swallowed their words and closed their eyes, unconsciously pulling out the black handkerchief and twisting it around their fingers.

Crowley sighed, standing up to pace, furious with themself for dredging up things better left alone. “I left you...” The words trailed away at seeing the black cloth twisting in Aziraphale’s hands, at the expression on their friend’s face as they tried to soothe themself with the motion.

“At first I was furious,” Aziraphale said with a bitter smile, eyes still closed. “Leaving me to clean up everything myself with Napoleon.” Aziraphale opened their eyes then and the grief in them had Crowley’s heart breaking. “But then time dragged on, and on, and I couldn’t find you, not by any means.”

“I should’ve tried to get a message to you. Should’ve explained things when I woke up.” Crowley thought to themself, _truth deserves truth_. “I, er, I didn’t actually think you’d miss me all that much.”

Aziraphale made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I was far worse a friend than I realized, if you thought I wouldn’t note your absence. You were gone for the better part of a century! I thought you’d-” Aziraphale couldn’t get the words past the lump of emotion in their throat, twisting the cloth so tightly Crowley thought it might tear.

“Been caught?” Crowley guessed, since it was almost what had happened.

“Committed suicide.” Azira closed their eyes to the shock on Crowley’s face. “All those bleak moods you have, how deep your grief has always gone... the fourteenth century,” they said with a half-hearted smile. “And then I get a note asking to meet in the park, like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t been mourning- I lied a lot that day. Everything about me was a lie, aside from my anger. I don’t even like pears that much.”

“Oh. Yeah. Makes sense you’d be upset about, er, everything.” Crowley rubbed at their eyes. “And then I asked you for holy water. And got hissy when you said no.”

Aziraphale snorted. “I don’t think I’d been that angry at anyone in centuries. Spite was a surprisingly good motivator for a while; I reopened the shop and began frequenting all manner of clubs, earned a PhD, did all sorts of things just to prove I was _fine_.” They looked down at their hands and gulped to realize they’d pulled out the black handkerchief and quickly stuffed it back into their pocket. “All sorts of stupid foolish things.”

“Like trying to double-crossed nazis?” Crowley asked, pretending they hadn’t noticed Aziraphale’s panic about the black handkerchief. “And then I showed up and vanished again,” they said, skimming over the painful memory of that night, envisioning again the beauteous expression on Aziraphale’s face as they- _Not going to to go there. Don’t go there._ “Why’d you ever, er, let me back into your life?”

“Because I missed you!” Aziraphale cried. “I’d run out of spite a long time before and all I had left was missing you.” They shook their head and pulled out the tartan handkerchief and wiped at their eyes, also not wanting to think about that night and how they’d almost lost Crowley again because of their foolishness. Afterward they’d done their best to limit their contact to coded messages, and had until well after the war had ended, until... “When I heard you were planning that ridiculous ‘stealing holy water from a church’ caper, I had the most terrible feeling about it. I knew I couldn’t let you risk yourself that way even though I still feared you might want it for, for _that_. Obviously it was the bond warning me, I just didn’t realize it.”

“Obviously.” Crowley leaned towards them and tried to get the conversation back on topic. “Angel, what did you mean though? You did all that without me-”

“I did it all _for_ you.” Aziraphale covered their face at having said the words aloud.

“Aziraphale...” How was Crowley supposed to respond to that?

“When I thought you gone, I was trying to keep your memory alive. Then it was to prove I hadn’t missed you, that I didn’t need you in my life either.” Aziraphale figured they’d already said too much, why not say more. If all of that hadn’t scared Crowley off for good then this last bit surely would. “When you contacted me about the anti-christ, I told myself I wasn’t going to fall for your tricks again. I wasn’t going to get attached this time. I was the _nice_ one, the _loyal_ one, the _angel,_ and this time I was going to be the one to, to _win_ , whatever that meant.” They gave Crowley a sad self-deprecating smile. “I’m much better at lying to myself than to you.”

“You thought I did it on purpose,” Crowley realized, feeling like the biggest fool for not seeing it sooner. How quick Aziraphale was to jump to the wrong conclusions, to accuse them of actually being as evil as they were just playing at. “That I was trying to hurt you. That I _wanted_ to hurt you. Why?”

“Because, as time went on I couldn’t fathom why else you’d continue to associate with me except to make fun of me or use me. Sometimes I still can’t, because that’s just how Aziraphale the soft weak fool, the laughingstock, the useless earthbound principality is treated by other angels-- of course a fallen angel would do the same or worse, right?” Aziraphale shrugged, twisting the tartan handkerchief between their fingers. “You said yourself numerous times, that you weren’t an angel anymore. Made it clear that you couldn’t be, didn’t want to be, that person anymore. _Unforgivable_. What’s more unforgivable than betrayal?”

“I didn’t mean to _you_ , I didn’t mean it that way-”

“Didn’t you? It certainly sounded like a warning.” Aziraphale shook their head when Crowley looked away. “But I let you back in each time knowing full well what the price would be. And every time you left I knew it was only ever my own fault, for, for,” _loving,_ “caring about a demon who never claimed to be anything else.” Aziraphale tried to breathe deeply, to ease the painful ache in their chest. “I knew I was being unfair, expecting you to change when I couldn’t, wouldn’t. That it would be better, safer, for both of us if I stopped...”

“I wasn’t your friend because I was an angel,” Crowley said, storming around the room. “I was your friend because of you! I never needed to be on heaven’s side to, to,” _love,_ “care about you. Why would I try to save you if I wasn’t really your friend? Do you really think I would show up inside a blasted _church_ just to, what? Make fun of you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t expect you to show up at all! It seemed as though you’d only came back the first time to get holy water out of me. And then, to see you inside a church when consecrated ground should have discorporated you? More proof of how little use you had for me! I’m just a s-stupid angel that needed to be saved from themself, _again_ , and then, when I- you left me behind, _again_ , _obligation discharged_ -” Aziraphale could hiss as well as Crowley, with a tongue just as sharp, and those words cut deep.

Crowley got right up in Aziraphale’s face, growling, “You aren’t a bloody _obligation_ , you’re my best friend! And I left to keep you safe-”

“Safe from what? From who? You? You’ve never hurt anything but my feelings.” Aziraphale pressed their fingers to their eyes and admitted, “You’re the only one I’ve ever felt safe with. Even after you were demonized, at least I knew where I stood with you.”

“Yeah, on thin fucking ice, and I didn’t want to drag you under!” When Aziraphale shook their head in denial Crowley touched their hands, urging them to look them in the eye. “Yes. Aziraphale? Look at me? You didn’t wonder why they were wasting time talking instead of just offing you? Offing both of us? Someone told them to drag it out, to see if you’d try to negotiate for your life. The whole thing was a setup. Hell was getting ready for you. Stoking up the boilers for the sulphur bath for the first angel kicked out since the fall.”

Aziraphale stared in shock. “You never said...”

“Would it’ve changed anything? They’d always had it out for you, for us, all they needed was an excuse.” Crowley reached out to wipe away the tear trailing down Aziraphale’s cheek but let their hand drop instead. “If the elementals hadn’t gotten word to me… I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t-” They pulled Aziraphale into a hug, shuddering when they held on in return. Only right to tell Aziraphale what was the root of it, had to give them the choice of walking away. “It was all my fault.”

“No, now _you’re_ being ridiculous,” Aziraphale protested, pulling away just enough to see Crowley’s face, stunned to read the truth there. “You really believe that.”

Crowley pulled away and started pacing. “You remember, I told you later than I’d sent a memo that I was ‘helping’ the nazis? I was really playing double agent.”

Aziraphale had to smile at that. “Of course you were. Is that why they recognized you?”

Crowley nodded. “Someone, er, got the idea to use the nazis to get to you. Making an angel fall was way better than killing one. They’d have gotten a big promotion if it had worked.”

“They wanted books of prophecy,” Aziraphale protested. “I was the only bookseller who-”

Crowley shook their head. “And how’d they find you? All of London to wreak havoc in and they happen to find the one tiny bookshop that’s run by an angel, that happens to have some books they want? Makes finding a needle in a haystack sound easy.”

“I’ll grant you that it seems unlikely, but it’s still not your fault,” Aziraphale insisted.

“Hell wouldn’t have even remembered you existed if I hadn’t reminded them.” Crowley met their eyes and made themself say the words. “I put you in danger. You nearly fell because of me, because I can never leave well enough alone. So I left and did my best to stay away after that. You were safer-”

“Fuck safer!” Aziraphale stood and pulled them back into another hug, resting their cheek against Crowley’s, whispering, “If you try that ever again, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Crowley closed their eyes against the tears that welled there, at the unspoken plea under the mock-scolding tone; _don’t leave me._ “You threatened to never speak to me again.”

Aziraphale could hear the pain under the teasing. “I wasn’t lying, I just figured we’d both be too dead to talk, you see.” Crowley couldn’t help but laugh at the truth of that statement, and Aziraphale joined in. “But I knew you’d come up with something, you always do.”

They reluctantly eased apart, both of them wiping at their damp faces. “Didn’t mean to dredge all that up,” Crowley said, inwardly pleased when Aziraphale miracled them another tartan handkerchief, which Crowley used and stuffed into their jacket pocket.

“What brought that on?” Aziraphale asked as they eased themself back down into their chair, watching Crowley pace, their eyes drifting back to where a corner of pale tartan was sticking out from Crowley’s pocket.

“You just kept calling me your best friend-”

“You are my best friend!”

“Yeah, well, it’s been eating at me. Why? Why d'you put up with me?” Crowley shrugged at Aziraphale’s frown, turning away to rub at their eyes. “We _don’t_ have anything much in common.”

“That is patently untrue and I’ll prove it.” Aziraphale moved in front of Crowley and began ticking their points off on their fingers. “Firstly, we have always had very similar moral compasses on what constitutes right from wrong and good from bad, even when we were forced to ignore them. Secondly, we both enjoy and appreciate music, across quite a few similar styles and eras.”

“Besides bebop,” teased Crowley with a small smile. “Obviously.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled. “Obviously. Thirdly, we both enjoy learning new things and teaching when we are given the opportunity. Fourthly, we are both extremely fond of this planet and humans and all the rest of it. Fifthly, we both want to make sure _they_ don’t get to mess things up any more than they already have. Sixthly, no one else gets my sense of humor as well as you do, and frankly they never will. And lastly and most importantly, I genuinely like you as you are, which makes the need for commonality completely irrelevant.” They said the last bit with playfully pompous smugness, making Crowley snort out a laugh.

“Yeah, I like you too, angel.” Crowley stuck their hand in their jacket pocket and said, “I’m pretty impulsive.”

“I’d rarely do anything new if it weren’t for you,” Aziraphale responded. “And I’d like to think you’ve learned a little caution in our time together. A very small amount. Please.”

Crowley grinned at the teasing. “Maybe.” They gestured at the piles of books everywhere. “I don’t read.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale, “nobody’s perfect. I won’t hold it against you.”

Crowley let out another bark of laughter and wandered around before casually mentioning, “So, er, remember when you talked about the _others_? That’s another difference between us.” At Aziraphale’s confusion Crowley gestured, trying to clarify. “I mean, I know some. Fellow myths and cryptids.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale tugged on their waistcoat. “It’s not that I was opposed to meeting any, just that I haven’t. And, well, upstairs probably would’ve noticed and it’s liable to have ended poorly for all of us.”

“Right, right. Downstairs didn’t really care, probably thought I’d recruit them.” Crowley toyed with one of the books and glanced over their shoulder at Aziraphale. “I could, uh, introduce you to a few, if you like. Met most of ‘em that pub, Biers. Quiet place, historic. I think you’d like it.”

Aziraphale gave them a slow fond smile. “I would like that, very much.”


	23. Biers, Where Everybody Knows Your Shape (Tues)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So why was no one paying Crowley any mind as they ranted in the pub? Because Crowley's been a regular there since they woke up from their nap and they've been accepted as one of many cryptids to frequent the place. This is Crowley's first time bringing in someone new.
> 
> Death makes an appearance but nobody dies, though there are some discorporations of generic angels and demons, mentions of blood and cartoonish dismemberment in the fight scene.

Crowley and Aziraphale took their time quietly walking to Biers, with Aziraphale using just a touch of magic to keep the rain off. As they got closer though, Crowley’s steps began to slow and Aziraphale found themself walking alone when Crowley stopped suddenly. “Crowley?”

“Er, I should probably warn you, they’re an odd bunch. I’m not actually sure what most of them are, besides not typical humans.” They stared at Aziraphale with a growing sense of worry. Their sweet innocent face all but screamed ‘fresh meat’. “Don’t stare, let them talk to you first, don’t-”

“Crowley, really, I do know how to be polite,” Aziraphale scolded, tugging on their waistcoat and checking their bow tie. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” It was a goad, but there was a grain a truth beneath it. There _were_ differences between them, perhaps too big-

“Psh,” said Crowley, stepping closer to smooth Aziraphale’s lapels. “I want to keep you safe. That’s all.”

“I’m with my best friend, of course I’m safe.” Aziraphale beamed when Crowley smiled. “I could try going occult again-” They lifted their left hand to snap their fingers and Crowley caught it.

“Oh, hell-o no, no,” Crowley said, breaking into a grin at the glint in their friend’s eye. “You’re fine as you are, angel, they don’t care about that sort of thing. I’ll discorporate if you put me in tartan again, I swear,” Crowley warned, keeping Aziraphale’s hand in theirs and starting them walking again.

“Well, we can’t have that,” murmured Aziraphale, gazing down at their clasped hands, and that little bit of tartan peeking out from Crowley’s jacket pocket, and back at Crowley’s softly smiling profile. “How did you find this place? Has it been around long?”

“Eh, been Biers for a while, was the Enterprise before that, but the type of patrons stay the same. I found it after my, er, nap,” Crowley admitted, stopping at a distance so Aziraphale could take it in. “There. It’s got protections on it and I wanted somewhere...”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale understandingly. They nodded approvingly at the well maintained exterior and at the very faint pinging against their senses that hinted at very powerful protections. “Shall we?” They smiled when Crowley opened the door and waved them inside, eyes going wide when they felt the sweep of power as they stepped over the threshold, staring down at the inlaid stone and looking back up at Crowley, who was unaffected. Aziraphale was about to say something when someone was suddenly at their elbow, looming over them. “Oh, hello?”

“Hello,” said Igor, giving Aziraphale a curious once over and favoring Crowley with an inquisitive arched brow. “Booth or table?”

“Uh, um.” Crowley hoped to hel- hea- somewhere that the heat on their face wasn’t an actual blush and said, “Table. This is Aziraphale. Aziraphale, Igor, part-owner of Biers and the main bartender.”

“How lovely,” said Aziraphale, offering their hand. “Your place has a wonderful atmosphere.”

“Thanks,” said Igor, shaking their hand and waving for them to seat themselves at any of the few remaining unoccupied tables. “Candy’ll take your order.”

Crowley picked a two person table back a ways from the front windows, and sat facing the back so that Aziraphale could watch the front door. “The food’s good, if you’re hungry,” they said, eyes roaming the room behind the cover of their glasses, noticing more than a few people glancing in their direction.

“Ooh,” said Aziraphale, picking up the menu to look it over. They sent an inquiring thought to Crowley, to see if they were interested in talking and Crowley gave a wordless affirmative. :There are very powerful and ancient protections on this place.:

:That why you had a weird look when we came in?: Crowley asked, nodding to the bronzed middle-aged woman who came up to the table. “Hey, Candy.”

“Hello Crowley. Who’s your friend?” she asked with a friendly smile at Aziraphale, tucking one of her black curls back behind her ear. She didn’t wait for an introduction, holding her hand out. “I’m Karamela Sweets, which is why everyone calls me Candy.”

“Karamela, what a lovely name. I’m Aziraphale, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” they said, shaking her hand.

“Thanks. What can I get you two?”

“I’ll have my regular and the special. You ready to order, angel?” Crowley could feel the stares at saying that word and knew they were blushing, but kept their eyes on Aziraphale, who was completely unaware of the entire thing as they smiled and told Candy what they’d like to have.

She was back almost instantly with their drinks and struck up conversation again. “So, Aziraphale, have you known Crowley long?” she asked, clearly knowing she was overstepping slightly and not caring.

“Oh, we’ve been friends forever,” said Aziraphale, sliding a look at Crowley, who smirked. “You?”

“Since I was a baby, which wasn’t nearly that long ago,” she laughed, giving Crowley a long considering look which they pointedly ignored. “I’ll be back when your food’s ready.”

“I’m so glad you brought me here,” said Aziraphale sincerely, taking a sip of their drink. “Very nice.”

Crowley grimaced at that word but nodded. “I like it. One of my favorites.”

“I can see why.” Aziraphale returned to what they had been saying earlier. :The protections, they’re quite old, and quite strong.:

Something came through in their inflection that caught Crowley’s attention. :How old?:

:Few thousand years, I think. Reminds me of that place we found in Rome.: Aziraphale smiled a little at the memory. :Do you remember it?:

:Course,: Crowley said. They had been sent there for their first assignment after the fall and it had gone terribly. And then Aziraphale had appeared. Had let Crowley ‘tempt’ them to a meal and then had found Crowley lodging for the night and then had popped back up in the morning and had insisted on showing them around the city and getting them proper clothing and had let Crowley ‘tempt’ them to another meal. And after a few days of that had very cautiously mentioned knowing of a safe private space for them to stretch their wings. It had been a balm to Crowley’s soul, to ask for the honor in repayment and have Aziraphale’s unhesitant acceptance and trust. :You had to hold my hand to get me inside: Crowley blinked away the memory and looked over their shoulder at the front door. :Are you saying..?:

:Yes, the same protections, against ‘denizens of the underworld and other beings of ill intent’ if I recall the wording correctly. Did you ever have any trouble walking over the threshold?:

Crowley thought back to that day in 1862, remembered securing a new flat and summoning up their possessions from whomever had bought or stolen them from their previous flat during their long absence. They’d been walking around the area, reacquainting themself with it after so long and had spotted what had been called the Enterprise back then, and had felt almost compelled to go in for a fortifying drink before facing Aziraphale. They’d felt the protections but, :Not a blip,: Crowley said. :It just always felt safe. Should’ve realized…: They sighed a little, to think back on that disastrous meeting. At how different everything in that memory was now, knowing what had been going on in Aziraphale’s mind. :I’m the idiot.:

Aziraphale blinked in confusion at the sudden non-sequitur, but Crowley’s expression made it all clear. :No, Crowley, I was in no mood to listen even if you had wanted to explain. And you had just woken up from a sixty plus year nap, and we both know you are _not_ your best when you just wake up.: They smiled when Crowley smirked at that. :We can’t change the past, only learn from it.:

Candy returned with their food and left them to eat in peace. They talked about inconsequential things and Aziraphale was savoring the last few bites of their dessert when silence descended upon the pub and Crowley stiffened in their chair, reaching across the table for Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale took it, noticing that the people all around them were frozen in time and turned to look, unsettled to see the tall black-robed figure of Death stalking in from the back of the pub.

It took Death a few strides to realize that someone had actually seen them and they canted their head in surprise and approached their table. “I DIDN’T EXPECT TO SEE YOU TWO HERE.”

“Oh, well, that’s good,” said Crowley, eyes narrowing when Death’s attention shifted to where Aziraphale’s right hand was clasped together with Crowley’s left. “What _are_ you doing here?”

Death looked away from their hands to look between Aziraphale and Crowley. “I’M HERE ON BUSINESS ACTUALLY. HAVE A FEW APPOINTMENTS TO SEE TO.”

Aziraphale worriedly looked around at the motionless people. “Oh, er, inside?”

“OH NO, OUT FRONT. THEY’RE DUE ANY MOMENT NOW, WHICH IS WHY I FROZE TIME, I WAS RUNNING A LITTLE LATE YOU SEE,” Death explained abashedly. A flicker of power and time started up again. Death was in their helmeted biker appearance, somehow completely overlooked by everyone else in the room. They looked at Crowley’s watch again and then out the front window of the pub. “HERE WE GO.”

They both turned to look as a handful of people approached the door in a tight cluster, the first one reaching out for the handle only to crumple against an invisible barrier, the whole formation crashing together and rebounding off of the barrier and one another. The barrier gave off a loud discordant hum at the contact that made everyone’s bones itchy.

“What’s that one mean?” Candy asked Igor, who was scowling towards the front windows and the six people trying to figure out what had just happened.

“I dunno,” he said, pulling a not small club out from under the bar. “Never heard it before.”

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale, looking at Crowley who had also recognized the alarm, and then back at Death who was just quietly watching the people outside. “Are, er, do you get called in for discorporations? Or only for true destruction?”

“OH YES, NOT THAT I’VE SEEN MANY DISCORPORATIONS UP UNTIL RECENTLY. NEVER BEEN CALLED TO A DISSOLUTION,” said Death. “EVER.”

They stared in confusion. Aziraphale said, “Oh, but… we saw you? At the park?”

“Supposed to be bad luck, seeing you,” added Crowley. “I mean, if you’re there, then...”

“INDEED.” Death canted their head in acknowledgment of their confounded expressions. “PART OF MY JOB, BEING A THINGY OF ILL OMEN-”

“Portent?” Aziraphale supplied thoughtfully. “Portent of Ill Omen?”

“RIGHT. BUT I WASN’T THERE FOR _YOU_.”

“So who were you there for?” said Crowley, looking back at Aziraphale, who had that far off look in their eyes and just the slightest beginnings of a smile. “Wait, do you mean you were trying to warn _them_ -”

“I CAN’T HELP IT IF THEY WON’T LISTEN,” Death said, clearly annoyed. “AS THOUGH I’M NOT BUSY ENOUGH WITHOUT WINDING UP IN RANDOM PLACES BEING OMINOUS? THAT’S WHY I WAS LATE TODAY! AND FOR WHAT? TO BE IGNORED AGAIN! USED TO BE THEY PAID ATTENTION. USED TO BE I WAS GIVEN THE RESPECT I DESERVE. BUT NOW, THEY SEEM TO THINK THEY’RE ABOVE THAT SORT OF THING. WELL, THEY’VE GOT ANOTHER THINK COMING.”

Crowley started to grin, suddenly feeling a whole lot better about everything at that moment. “So if you’re not here to be ominous, then it must be the _other_ part of your job?”

“YES. I HAVE A DUTY TO ATTEND TO EVERYONE, AND I HAVE NEVER FORSAKEN IT. PEOPLE ALWAYS EXPECT I ONLY DO THE BIG EVENTS WHERE THERE ARE LOTS OF, ER, WITNESSES. BUT I’M AT THE LITTLE SECRETIVE EVENTS WITH THEIR LITTLE RIPPLING CONSEQUENCES AS WELL. SO YOU CAN IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN I SAW THE MEMO THAT, WELL, CERTAIN SOMEONES, HAD SOMEHOW BEEN DESTROYED IN MY ABSENCE. THEIR NAMES HAVE BEEN STRICKEN FROM OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS OF COURSE, BUT PEOPLE WILL INSIST ON REMEMBERING.”

“Right, right, ‘course,” said Crowley. “So, I take it this is going to be one of the big messy events?”

“OH YES,” said Death in a very satisfied tone of voice. “HERE’S THE REST OF THE GANG NOW. IT’S SO NICE WHEN EVERYONE IS ON TIME.”

Another group was marching towards the pub, only pulling up short because of the other cluster that had formed a huddle right in front of the door. There was an inaudible exchange between the two groups, with the first group sullenly shifting out of the way of the second group, revealing seven people dressed in crisp cream kilted tartan uniforms that had Aziraphale snapping out of their reverie with a jolt of fear. “Ooh-”

Only one of the soldiers approached the door, rapping their knuckles against the invisible barrier there. They stared at the door with a greatly affronted expression as the barrier made a high pitched chiming sound that set everyone’s teeth on edge. The heavenly soldier wasn’t deterred however and took a more forceful approach but was bounced backwards and sent stumbling into their fellows.

“Don’t know that one either,” said Igor before Candy or the other staff could ask. He came around the bar and walked around Death without acknowledging their presence but stopped when Crowley cleared their throat. “Yeah?”

“You don’t want to go out there,” Crowley warned, their eyes flickering towards Death. “Going to get real messy real quick.”

“Yeah? You know something I don’t?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale lowly, eyes still locked on the seven angels trying to get through the barrier and the six demons taunting and jeering at them. “Chimes mean angels, humming means demons.”

“They’re here for me, for us,” said Crowley, looking towards Aziraphale, who was holding their hand tightly.

“Wait, you were _serious,_ about being a demon?” Igor demanded loudly, hunching his shoulders when everyone turned to stare at his outburst. “Sorry. Sorry. We thought you were, you know, exaggerating. The barrier’s suppose to-”

“Keep out beings with ill intent,” said Aziraphale. “Which it’s doing. Oh, er, what are, oh dear.”

Outside, the leader of demons was beginning to lose their human seeming as they taunted the angels. Soon all the demons were clearly not human anymore, and the angels responded in kind, bodies adorned with golden heavenly marks, each one carrying a sheathed bronze sword at their hip.

“This is going to get ugly,” said one of the patrons. “I’m thinking one of the preps goes first. Anyone want to make a bet?”

Crowley could only shake their head in wonder as people started casually making bets and ordering snacks as two squads of supernatural beings squared up to brawl on the street outside the pub. “I don’t recognize any of them. Not that you would either I suppose, they never were keen on you having friends.”

Aziraphale shook their head and gave Crowley and Igor a worried look. “They shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t be _able_ to do this, to show themselves this way when there are people around.”

“THE LITTLE RIPPLES ARE BECOMING RATHER LARGE TEARS,” Death said, ignoring Igor’s rapid retreat back behind the bar. Death gestured when the angels unsheathed their swords as a unit, the demons calling up random junk or just going fully feral with teeth and talons in response. “CERTAIN PARTIES HAVE DECIDED TO TAKE MATTERS INTO THEIR OWN HANDS... AGAIN. AFTER ALL, ONLY SO MUCH CAN BE SWEPT UNDER THE RUG BEFORE PEOPLE START TRIPPING OVER THE PILE.”

Crowley looked back at Death. “You were around for the first time they tried something like this?”

‘I WAS. AT A SAFE DISTANCE. IT IS GOING TO TAKE URIEL AND IGMUTH A WHILE TO RECOVER, WHICH IS PROBABLY WHY THESE WERE SENT HERE WITHOUT, UH, SUPERVISION.”

“Wait,” Aziraphale said, “why would discorporation need a long recovery?”

“LET’S JUST SAY THAT SOME DISCORPORATIONS ARE FAR MORE THOROUGH THAN OTHERS.”

“Oh,” said Crowley, sharing a look with Aziraphale. “So was this lot even warned what they’d be getting into? I mean, would they _make_ them come?”

“Possibly. It’s not as though it matters to them if people get hurt,” said Aziraphale with a thoughtful frown, “as long as they get their war. That was what they kept saying was the whole point, to finally prove which side is stronger. But it’s not really winning if there’s no one to gloat over afterwards, is it? That’s why the fallen were kicked out and not destroyed.” They glanced at Death and murmured, “If they could be destroyed.”

“IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN A GAME TO THEM. YOUR ONLY MISTAKE WAS IN ASSUMING THEY WOULD PLAY FAIR.” Death nodded when they turned to stare. “I’D SAY YOU’VE LEARNED YOUR LESSON.”

Aziraphale shared a long look with Crowley before looking back out the front window at what was brewing outside. “I wonder why they haven’t they lit the swords?”

“Wot?” Crowley glanced over their shoulder, eyes narrowing to see the angels waving the blades and sharing worried looks with one another. “Ah, like our friend said...”

Aziraphale’s face went somber. “They still have the original sword.”

“But not the original sword- _wielder_. Not anymore. Maybe that’s why you were made to stay while they did their best to undermine you,” Crowley speculated, nodding at the sense that made even as Aziraphale shook their head in denial. “Yes, why can’t you accept that?”

The whole pub oohed when one of the angels broke rank to lunge at one of the demons, drawing first blood. Unfortunately the move left them unprotected on their flank and another demon slashed out with machete-like talons, drawing another gasp from the watchers when the arm flew off with surprising neatness, both it and the sword flying away. The arm discorporated with a scatter of sparks when it hit the barrier and the sword skittered over the sidewalk and wedged itself beside the windows. Already money was changing hands and more bets were being made and it became difficult to see out the windows for all the people gathered there to watch.

Death walked towards the windows and Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look and moved to follow, out of curiosity or a sense of responsibility, neither could truthfully say. The other patrons barely took note, just seemingly drifting out of their way.

The disarmed angel didn’t have time to do more than scream and clutch at the stump before they were grabbed between two demons and hurled towards the window, discorporating in a bright scattering a sparks as all the watchers flinched backwards. “Told you it’d be a preppy bastard,” said the original bettor in triumph.

The angels pulled together in a defensive circle and when one of the demons slashed out with their claws they lost their head, quite literally, and both parts soon disintegrated into a damp smear of ashes. A couple of the demons began to throw things at the angels with little success, until they grabbed one of the other demons and threw them, finally breaking the block. It then turned into a brief bloody free-for-all.

The last one standing was the demon who’d been thrown and had only survived by playing dead, and was very confused when the crowd inside cheered for them. Unfortunately for them, they tryed to pick up one of the fallen swords and ended up discorporating themself in a magnificent blaze of flame.

“Ha, that makes it a draw!” said one of the almost losing bettors, and there were groans all around as people began drifting back to their tables now that the excitement was over.

“AS IT SHOULD BE,” said Death, moving towards the door, and Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves drifting along in Death’s wake.

It was a bloody mess on the very deserted street, and Aziraphale was shocked to see the swords still lying around. “Those shouldn’t still be here. Why aren’t they-- heaven should have called them back-”

“HEAVEN AND HELL HAVE NOT HAD TO DO THEIR OWN DIRTY WORK IN A VERY LONG TIME,” said Death casually, prodding one of the broken bottles the demons had been using and shaking their head when it sizzled against their boot. “NO ONE REMEMBERS HOW. IF THEY EVEN EVER KNEW.”

“I bet they’re going to be learning real quick,” said Crowley with a sly grin at Aziraphale. “I wonder if they’ll follow the manuals. We worked very hard on them. Never did get credit, though, did we?”

“Oh, no, Michael and Dagon got all the commendations,” agreed Aziraphale, cautiously picking up one of the swords and immediately feeling the difference between it and the one they had been given. “It’s so much lighter. Almost too light.” With a glance at the pub, where the people seemed to have returned to their own concerns as though nothing had happened, Aziraphale made a few passes with the sword. They almost called out when Crowley bent to pick one up, but bit their lip, letting out a small sigh of relief when nothing happened.

“Huh, that is light,” said Crowley, turning it over in their hands. “Yours always felt a little off, but this feels...”

“Fake.” Aziraphale summoned up a satchel and together they gathered up six swords, as well as the altered things the demons had been using. The reformed angel turned to Death, who had seen to the last of the residues and remains and asked, “Sorry to bother you with this, but we can’t exactly return these to where they belong. Would you mind terribly?”

“MAY AS WELL. I’LL JUST PUT IT IN AS OVERTIME. I HAVE A FEELING I’M GOING TO BE GETTING A LOT OF OVERTIME.” They accepted the satchel. “SEE YOU SOON.” And with that, vanished.

“Well, I don’t like _that_ at all,” said Crowley, sauntering over to where the last sword was wedged between a decorative urn and the front windows of Biers. “What kind of thing is that to say, ‘See you soon’? No wants to hear that from Death.” Crowley scooped up the sword, looking it over for a moment before realizing Aziraphale was staring at them worriedly. “It’s fine angel-”

“I know. But, er, they didn’t,” Aziraphale said, giving a little wave to the worried spectators inside the pub. “I don’t think they could see us while Death was here.”

Crowley gave Igor and Candy a sheepish shrug and quickly passed the sword to Aziraphale when they joined them by the door. Neither one tried to step inside. “Uh, we can just pay and go-”

“Are you kidding?” said Igor, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the packed bar. “I should have you come out every Tuesday just to liven things up.”

“He’s joking,” Crowley soothed when they saw Aziraphale’s expression. “Right?”

“Yeah. Best to not discuss this up front.” Igor waved them back inside, giving a warning look to the customers that dared to stare and walked them all the way back to booth 13 before saying anything else. “The whole street is _supposed_ to be neutral ground. Things aren’t nearly as bad as they were in the old days, but some of the old timers don’t always remember that the clan wars are over and that it’s rude to pay for things with leaves and acorns. Everyone on this street has the ward,” a gesture towards the doors’ inlaid thresholds. “I’ll be sure to tell them what the buzz and the chime mean.”

“ _Hum_. Chime and hum,” corrected Aziraphale with a shudder. “If you hear a buzz, run. Buzzing is very bad news and they’ll devour the ward and any other magic like a bit of candyfloss.”

Igor looked at Crowley, going somber when they nodded in agreement to Aziraphale’s warning. “Oh. Huh, maybe you can come back another time and tell us more about the ward? Don’t really know much about it but a few old stories that’ve been passed down.”

“We, er, well, it might be best if we didn’t come back at all,” said Aziraphale sadly, resting the sword on the table and sitting down, Crowley sitting down across from them. “They’re not going to give up apparently. And now that you’ve given us shelter, they might try to target you and your establishment. Please, do join us, if you’d like to discuss it.”

Igor let out a gravelly laugh and something flashed in his eyes for a moment before he shrugged the warning away and leaned his hip against the table in a relaxed way that made it clear he could stand there and chat for hours. “Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tried and they haven’t been rid of us yet.”

Crowley was just watching Igor, unsure what to make of his reaction. Or of the fact that the past few minutes was the most they’d heard the man speak in the close to twenty years since he’d taken over tending the bar for his mother. “We could bless it,” Crowley blurted, looking away as though measuring up the room when Igor turned in surprise.

“Oh yes, that’s a splendid idea,” said Aziraphale. “Oh, but,” Aziraphale surreptitiously pantomimed taking a shot and Crowley grimaced. “It might not work quite as well as we’d like. Requires a lot of belief, that sort of thing. But we are certainly willing to try. Least we can do, really.”

Igor gave both Crowley and Aziraphale long looks. “I am of the Kaimera.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley who shrugged, and tried to puzzle out why that name sounded familiar. And why Igor’s tone sounded almost ceremonial in nature. “Thank you for telling us?” Aziraphale responded cautiously, not sure what else to say.

Igor nodded and continued, “It’s sometimes pronounced differently and it’s spelled c-h-i-m-e-r-a.”

“Oh, right,” said Aziraphale. “The mythical beast that was…” They blinked and looked at Crowley, “part lion and part snake or serpent or dragon. And, er, sometimes part goat if I recall?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. _The goat thing_ ; that had been forever ago. There were a great many distant memories of them traveling together in animal form to make sure heaven couldn’t spy on them. Usually with snake Crowley riding on lion Aziraphale’s back. “Hang on a minute, are you saying _we_ started the myth-”

“We’ve a lot of legends, passed down through the ages, of the great guardian spirits who watched over us when the world was new. Mostly they’re remembered and revered for showing us the secret ways and teaching us how to preserve our knowledge.” Igor began to smile as their expressions shifted from confusion to shock. “One taught us to fight for what is right,” he said to Aziraphale, “and one taught us to hide even in plain sight,” he said to Crowley. “I won’t recite the whole poem, it’s too long and most of it doesn’t scan well in English. So yeah, I’m pretty sure belief won’t be a problem.”

“Are you saying that you, that we...” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was just as stunned, and down at the ancient bronze sword and back at Igor. “I’m going to presume that you have a seer in your family?”

“Far more than one,” Igor admitted. “When my great, great, great grandmother had the same dream three weeks in a row, showing her a great golden lion and a great dark serpent together in the city of London, the whole family upped and moved. Which was lucky because there was an earthquake not long after the last of them left and the whole area was wiped out. Apparently visions of the guardian spirits have saved the family from a great many disasters over the years.”

Aziraphale was shaking their head in disbelief more than denial. “We’re not those beings anymore, if we ever were,” Aziraphale protested gently.

“And we’re not semi-nomadic goatherds either,” Igor reminded them. “Momma goes to Mass every Sunday like a good Catholic, and then she comes home and lights the candles for the spirits too. She’s keeper of the Books in the family, knows a dozen different dead languages and can mix any drink you can name.” He shrugged. “Times change and people change with them.”

“Why tell us though?” Aziraphale asked. “You had no way of knowing for sure-”

Igor smirked and slid a look at Crowley, who cursed under their breath. “I wasn’t exactly secretive that first time I got drunk,” they admitted, slouching down to rest their face in their hands. “Or any of the times after. I’m guessing that was a bit of a story, some drunk going on about stubborn angels and serpents sleeping in hell and both sides being full of bastards.”

“It’s certainly a favorite,” Igor agreed. “Didn’t occur to us that you would have actually joined up with...”

“More accurate to say we were conscripted,” Aziraphale said, running their fingers over the guard of the sword. “We weren’t given a choice, you see.”

“And now we’ve been discharged.” Crowley laughed. “I wonder if there’s a pension?”

“I’m rather sure that’s forfeit,” Aziraphale said, turning the sword so that handle was facing Crowley and pointing to where the hilt widened out to meet the blade. “Can you take a photograph of this? I think there’s something inscribed there.”

“Oh, er,” Crowley dug into their pocket, pulling out the tartan handkerchief and their phone and quickly stuffing the handkerchief away before busying themself with the phone. “Yeah, there is something there.” They took a few pictures, turned over the sword and took more and zoomed in, puzzling over the words. “But it doesn’t make any sense.”

“May I see?” Aziraphale very carefully took the phone, relieved when it didn’t implode or catch on fire. “How do I- ah, thank you.” They stared at the zoomed in image with a growing sense of unease, asking Igor again for help looking at the previous images, all with the same result. “I can’t read it.”

Crowley sat up in shock. “What?”

“I can’t read it.” Aziraphale cautiously handed them back the phone and picked up the sword, looking closely at the inscription. “I’ve never not been able to read something,” Aziraphale admitted in a small voice.

“Those bastards,” hissed Crowley. “They’re somehow still messing with you.” They looked down at the sword and gestured. “Maybe that’s what her prophecy was about. Your legacy? And, I can read it because of the snake’s tongue thing?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale shook their head and set the sword back down on the table with a sigh. “What does it say?”

Crowley zoomed in on the words again, showing them the parts that they could understand. “Uh, well here’s what basically reads as fiery sword? And that’s something about a chain or rope being on or of fire? And I’m pretty sure this word means blood, specifically, the blood of your enemies?”

“Igor?” Igor turned and hurried over to the tall stately woman who had just come in from the back door. Her hair was streaked with silver but she didn’t look particularly old and certainly not frail.

“Momma. I did text you-”

She waved that away. “Psh, two unfamiliar alarms in five minutes and you think I’m not going to come over as fast as possible? Did I raise a fool?”

Igor grinned and put his arm around her shoulders, kissing her cheek. “No, Momma.” He leaned close and whispered something in her ear and they could both see her eyes get wide and dart in their direction as Igor kept whispering, though she didn’t let anything more than that show in her expression. They were there for a while. Aziraphale and Crowley were both standing beside the booth when Igor escorted her over. “Since this is a family endeavor, probably best you talk to the head of the family. Momma, you know Crowley, and this is Aziraphale. I should get back to the bar, let me know if you need anything.”

“Ms. Cimelio,” said Crowley with a slight bow, holding out a hand to offer her a seat.

“Maria, please.” She slid onto the bench facing the front of the bar, folding her hands onto the table as Crowley and Aziraphale sat together on the other side. “So, Igor has told me some of what’s happened but I’d like to hear it direct from the source, if you don’t mind.” She looked down pointedly at the sword.

They exchanged looks and Crowley said, “So, uh, we, er… we aren’t human. I figure you probably knew that about me already?”

“Had an inkling, since you haven’t aged for as long as I’ve known you,” Maria said with a playful smile.

Crowley nodded at that, fidgeting a bit. “Right, right, well, just want to be clear that I never meant any harm to anyone before we get to the rest of it.” The former demon let out a sigh when her eyebrows winged upwards and they said bluntly, “I was a demon, ‘minion of hell’ and all that, for the last couple thousand years.”

She blinked, and blinked again, and turned to Aziraphale, eyebrows raised in inquiry. “Oh, er, angel. Both of us, technically, before the whole, er, thing. But we’re not either anymore. Gone, um, freelance I think was how you put it?” they said to Crowley with a faint smile. “I would also like to assure you that if we’d known they would attempt such foolishness again, we wouldn’t have risked endangering everyone by visiting your lovely establishment.” Aziraphale frowned down at the sword. “This was even worse than the last time. Real angels and demons instead of Legions and Legionnaires. And at least then we were alone.”

“Sounds like being alone would be a lot worse than having witnesses,” Maria said mildly. “You know, it’s funny, how we all believed that you were one of the guardian spirits, but we didn’t believe that you were really a demon, even though we’d all heard you mumbling about it at some point. The mind works in mysterious ways sometimes, don’t it. Igor said you were ‘conscripted’?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” said Crowley, relaxing at her non-reaction. “Igor mentioned the, er, myth..?”

“Chimera,” Aziraphale said, twisting their fingers together. “The lion and the serpent.” She nodded. “Did, um, were they also people?”

“Sometimes,” she answered. “So, if you don’t mind, can we discuss the ancient bronze sword laying in the middle of the table? Because Igor says it belonged to an angel who got their arm cut off by a demon and I must admit I’m quite intrigued.”

“Oh, yes, well, it is an angel’s sword, though I’m not sure which one dropped it in the chaos,” said Aziraphale. “You can touch it if you like, it won’t hurt you except for the usual cutty ways.”

Maria’s face lit up as she cautiously picked it up and she frowned to feel how light it was. “Feels fake,” she said, squinting at the inscription on the hilt and pulling out a pair of glasses. “Igor said there was writing, oh. Oh.” Her eyes went wide and she pulled out her phone and began typing up notes, the two of them completely forgotten for a while.

Crowley grinned at Aziraphale, who smiled sheepishly in recognition of their own focused behavior. “You can read it,” Crowley said when the frenzy of tapping subsided.

“Sorry?” She pulled off her glasses and gave them both a sheepish smile. “Yes, astonishingly. It’s actually a mix of eight different languages, if you can imagine. It’s very weird, because this seems like it should just be a mess, but it is actually surprisingly poetic. I’ve taken some liberties with the translation but I’m basing it off of another multi-language work that I’m very familiar with.”

“The, um, poem, about the spirits?” surmised Aziraphale.

Crowley explained, “Igor recited a couple lines. ‘Do what’s right, hide in plain sight’?”

She nodded and touched each part as she translated. “‘Kept aflame by oath-bound ring, Rise aloft to hew and swing, the Burning Blade for blood sings.’ Although I’m not totally sure about the last word, it can also be wailing, as in crying with grief or weeping, as in dripping; but the word they used for blood, being of your enemies, implies that there isn’t much sad crying going on, though I imagine it might drip with blood after the fact.” She shrugged and shook her head. “And this is an _angel’s_ sword?”

“Yeah, demons just use whatever they’ve got on hand, including their hands,” said Crowley, pointedly staring at Aziraphale. “Now do you believe me? _Kept on fire by oath-bound ring_?”

Aziraphale touched the empty spot on their pinky and shrugged. “I suppose I have to. A little too obvious to ignore.” They gave a faint pained smile to Maria and explained, “I, uh, had a ring, given to me by,” a quick look upwards, “that I chose to take off about a week ago.”

“It’s been a very exciting couple of weeks for us. Tried to stop Armageddon, cocked it up, royally pissing off both our bosses in the process, tried again but mostly just, er, watched other people stop it really, almost died, then did die, got better, but the bastards keep trying. Honestly, how are we even still going?”

“Sheer force of will most likely,” said Aziraphale, smiling at Maria’s expression. “I wish that was an exaggeration but it is not.”

“We knew about the world almost ending, and we knew something very bad had to have happened, for you to be here drinking like you were,” she said to Crowley, who nodded and looked away, unconsciously slouching closer to Aziraphale. “But why do they want to kill you?”

“Rebelled,” said Crowley. “First time for both of us really.”

“More than that, we completely undermined their authority,” said Aziraphale.

“Two absolute nobodies, trying to derail a Great Plan thousands of years in the making,” smirked Crowley, looking at Aziraphale. “That’s a kick in the teeth, ain’t it?”

“Moreover, if they hadn’t worked so hard to treat us so poorly, I don’t think we’d have ended up where we are.” Aziraphale smiled fondly at Crowley, looking away when they recalled that Maria was there. “Ahem. But what we had been discussing with Igor was puting a blessing over the building. A little added something in case either side tries to try again or decides to retaliate against Igor or your family for offering us shelter.”

“Least we can do after bringing the bastards to your doorstep,” said Crowley apologetically.

“It would be an honor,” smiled Maria. “My momma didn’t raise a fool either; not going to say no to a couple of blessings from any benevolent source.”

“Excellent, we can do it right now,” said Aziraphale, scooting themself out of the booth and tugging on their waistcoat as they looked around. “Hmm, there are a few different options we could do. Might be better if we do different blessing instead of the same, cover more ground that way. What do you think?”

“Oh, er,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s proffered hand and then up at their face as they let Aziraphale help them from the booth. “Didn’t really think about it. Sort of expected they’d only want your, er, bit.”

“Well that was silly of you,” said Aziraphale, patting Crowley’s hand before letting go. “We should probably be as close to the center of the building as possible,” they said to Maria, who nodded and led them into the kitchen. Some of the activity had died down, but it was still quite hot from the rush earlier and the steady stream of cooked and plated food would still be going on for a few more hours yet.

“I’d say about here,” she said, gesturing to the main thoroughfare not far from the door out into the front seating area. “Helen, go make sure no one uses the door for a minute, will you?” One of the younger kitchen staff slipped out after giving Crowley and Aziraphale a huge grin. “Don’t mind her, there’s a reason she’s in here and not working the floor. Doesn’t mind her manners as well as she should,” Maria scolded, just loud enough for Helen to hear from the other side of the door and she made a playful face through the window at her grandmother, who made a face right back.

“So, what do you have in mind?” Crowley asked, deciding that any flush on their face was certainly from the heat of the kitchen and not from the heat of people’s stares. Hard to act cool when standing in the middle of busy pub kitchen, clearly getting in the way.

Aziraphale tugged nervously at their waistcoat, doing their best to ignore the watching people and asked. “Do you recall the protections we put up after you were done _fomenting_?”

Crowley made a face at the recollection and nodded, holding out their hands towards Aziraphale. “I don’t know why I let you convince me to let Owain win. Getting stabbed with a sword hurts you know.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry that I mistakenly thought he’d do the honorable thing instead of just trying to kill you,” said Aziraphale apologetically as they rested their right hand over Crowley’s left. “It was just a flesh wound though and I did heal you, you will recall. And it’s not as though it took much to convince you, we were both more than ready to quit mucking about in the damp and I couldn’t leave if the Black Knight was still making a nuisance of themself.”

“A nuisance!” Crowley hissed, shifting their right hand to rest over Aziraphale’s left. “D’you know how hard it is to keep bandits in line? Getting them to off the worst of their own was a stroke of genius you know.”

“Yes, I know. You told me about it a dozen times on the way back to London,” said Aziraphale with an exasperated eyeroll. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

Maria and the staff didn’t know what to expect, especially not with the pair of them bickering like an old married couple over things that sounded like something out of a fairy tale. Bandits and Black Knights, sword wounds and magical healing. And then they both started speaking in a language that went beyond hearing, with Aziraphale’s clear ringing voice intertwining with Crowley’s low hissing. They both began to glow, Crowley with a dark auroral corona and Aziraphale with a golden scintillating light, which melded together and with their final unified words, expanded outward with a rush that made the pub go silent.

“That should do nicely,” Aziraphale said to Maria as sound began filtering back in, beaming at Crowley, who shook their head but smiled just a little.

“Yes, I imagine it will.” She led them back to the booth and sat back down when they invited her to. “If you don’t mind my asking, what language was that?”

“Celestial,” said Crowley, again scooting into the booth before Aziraphale.

“Ah.” She nodded her head thoughtfully, as though coming to a decision, and laced her hands together on the table, squaring her shoulders. “Crowley, Aziraphale, I have something I would like to ask of you.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a quick glance and nodded. “We’d be happy to help to the best of our ability.”

Maria nodded again, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “As you know, my family has lived in London for a long time now, and in some ways we’re Brits through and through. And in others, we will always be Outsiders. And one of the ways we are others is in regards to magic.”

They shared another look as understanding hit. “The witch vs wizard nonsense,” guessed Crowley, shaking their head when Maria nodded. “We, er, we’re working a few witches around to not being so black and white about it,” they admitted.

“And I believe there are some wizards who are open to broadening their approaches,” Aziraphale said. “And...” A look at Crowley, who nodded. “You and your family could join the arrangement we have with them? It is an arrangement of mutual trust, to keep our old sides from meddling too much and to keep all of us as collectively safe as we possibly can. Part of the arrangement is that we teach them about magic.”

Maria blinked at that. “I will want to meet them before I agree to anything.”

“Of course,” said Crowley. “We’ll be seeing some of the witches tomorrow, and we’ll be seeing the wizards on Thursday. We can eh, invite them to meet here on Sunday? Say one o'clock?”

Aziraphale was nodding. “Some of them will come, I’m sure. Certainly Nanny Ogg-”

“Wait, _the_ Nanny Ogg?” Maria interrupted, with something like hero worship in her eyes.

“I can’t imagine there’s more than one,” said Aziraphale with a chuckle.

“Don’t want to imagine, more like,” Crowley snorted, getting a light elbow to the side. “Well, really, can you imagine two of her? Granny Weatherwax is all that keeps one of her in line.” Maria stiffened at that name. “Ah, see you’ve met her. But she’s Nanny Ogg’s best friend, so.”

“I can’t even imagine,” she said lowly.

“I think it’s the challenge,” said Aziraphale. “As in no one challenges Granny but Nanny and vice versa.”

“I figured Granny, but Nanny?” Maria shook her head in amazement. “She wrote a cookbook you know. And she’s a very well known midwife. And she’s famous for her brewing. At least, in certain circles.”

“Yeah, it’s amazing what she can do with mostly apples,” said Crowley, looking sidelong at Aziraphale.

“Miraculous even,” Aziraphale replied, smiling at Maria’s curious expression. “You’ve seen Crowley drink. What would you say it takes to get them actually drunk?”

Her eyes went wide. “Bottles upon bottles.”

“One drink, from a wooden cup like a large thimble. From dusk until dawn,” Crowley grinned, making a gesture to imply them being flat on their back. “Hell of a hangover, worth it though.”

“You mean her _scumble_? I’ve only ever heard it talked about,” Maria admitted. “Well, when you see her, please tell her I look forward to meeting her in person.” She got out of the booth and told them, “I’ve taken up enough of your time. No, no, stay as long as you like, I can send Candy back with something-”

“Oh, thank you, Maria, I wouldn’t mind a little something before we go,” said Aziraphale, giving Crowley a hopeful look, smiling when they smirked and shrugged. “I saw the most scrumptious looking dessert when we were in the kitchen, with layers of dough and cream and frosting on top? I believe it was named for the city of Naples?”

“That’s the millefoglie. Two forks?” she asked, giving Crowley just the faintest of smiles when their cheeks pinkened. She had witnessed a lot of mumbled drunken rants over the years after all, and was nothing if not observant. Their hearts weren’t just on their sleeves, they were flashing neon signs, and neither one had the sense to see it yet. There had certainly been a few heartbroken complaints about sharing a plate of sweets with someone who never seemed to recall it was a significant courting gesture at one time. 

“Oh yes, you’ll have some, won’t you?” asked Aziraphale, who had certainly never forgotten that is was a courting gesture but was absolutely sure that Crowley had.

“Sure,” Crowley shrugged. “Since you’re offering. Be rude not to.”

“Excellent, two forks please. Thank you, Maria, for being so understanding.”

“Oh, understanding hasn’t hit yet,” she laughed, accepting Aziraphale’s handshake. “In fact, I’m going to have a good long laydown and let all this sort itself out tonight. Maybe understanding will come in the morning, but sometimes acceptance is the best our brains can do.” She patted their hand, and gave a little wave to Crowley and left them alone at the booth.

Crowley waited a beat before resting their left elbow on the table and turning to look at Aziraphale. “ _Nuisance_.”

Aziraphale sighed, a slight smile tugging at their lips. “Yes, _nuisance_. The bandits were bad enough, stealing livestock, waylaying travelers but _you_ were terrifying, lurking in your dark spooky forest. I will admit that turning the bandits against the worst of their own was extremely clever, but you could have gotten yourself discorporated or worse if they’d decided to turn on you instead.”

“Nah,” said Crowley, breaking into a grin. “After your first visit I told them I had owls and eagles watching them. And every time you’d fly in for a chat, they about shat themselves.”

“Crowley, you didn’t!” Aziraphale let out a put upon sigh that was entirely feigned. “Using me to keep your minions in line. I suppose I should have known better than to have worried. Far too wily.” Aziraphale fussed with the sword and asked, “Should I let you out? If you’d rather sit-”

“Nah,” said Crowley a touch too fast, looking down at their watch but not really seeing it. “Easier to share this way.”

“Oh yes, quite.”

They both smiled at Candy when she dropped off the dessert, as well as a bottle of wine and two glasses. “In celebration of your combined blessings,” Candy said, pouring them each a glass. “Don’t ask for the tab, because you don’t have one. I’ll check on you later.” She gave them a big grin and left.

“Well... cheers. To a very educational evening,” said Aziraphale, lifting their glass towards Crowley.

Crowley laughed and tapped glasses. “And to many more to come.”


	24. In The Mood For Magic (Wed)

It was late when Igor showed them the back way out of the pub, out a hidden door in the beer-garden through an alley that led out into the next street over. With the sword safely hidden inside an umbrella left long forgotten at the pub, they quietly walked back to the flat, lost in their own thoughts.

They both acted as though it was already an inconsequential habit and not something that felt heart-poundingly intimate as Crowley silently helped Aziraphale from their coat and hung it up and then took off their jacket and hung it up as well, hanging their glasses from the front pocket. “Suppose we should put that somewhere safe,” Crowley said when Aziraphale pulled the sword free and set the umbrella beside the door.

“Will it fit in the safe?” Aziraphale asked, following Crowley into the office.

Crowley shrugged and unlocked it, swinging the door open. “I told you the code, yeah?”

“You did.” Aziraphale lifted the sword but hesitated. “Silly of me, but I’m reluctant to let it go,” they murmured, turning it over in their hands. “They might figure out how to recover it at any moment. And while it’s not mine, this might be as close as I come to holding it again.”

“Do you miss it? Your sword?”

“I don’t, and I do.” Aziraphale gave them a faint smile and set the sword into the safe and turned away, twisting their hands together. “I knew they needed it to survive, so I can’t regret giving it to them. It’s not as though I really had any need for it once the Garden was destroyed. And clearly Heaven had some way of retrieving it and the rest or they couldn’t have been delivered to the harbingers. But now...”

Crowley closed the safe door and reset the lock, looking at Aziraphale over their shoulder. “Now you’re worried _we_ might need it to survive.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale stood by the desk, absently picking up one of the unenchanted pieces of obsidian. “A shame my little ruse with the courier failed.”

“Yeah, I’d wondered about that,” Crowley admitted, flopping onto the couch. “Not exactly subtle.”

“No, I suppose not. I tried to miracle up a replica but couldn’t. I didn’t think to examine it for writing or other marks, I mean, it was mine, I foolishly assumed I knew all there was to know about it.” Aziraphale let out a sigh. “I assumed a lot of things. Ended up wrong about far too many of them.”

“You can’t keep beating yourself up, angel. They’ve been pulling your, _our_ strings for millennia, and y-, _we’re_ not going to be over it any time soon,” Crowley said gently. “We’ve only been free for a week.”

Aziraphale laughed a little at that. “A very busy week, on top of a busy decade.”

“What about the other things?” Crowley asked. “The crown and the scales?”

Aziraphale stared down at the stone in their hands and admitted, “They scare me, more than the sword ever did. Swords are simple usually; they’re for fighting and not much else. But a balance is far from simple and crowns even less so. What were they for? What did they represent? What was being weighed and why? And the crown brings up even more questions. Harder ones.”

“Like, were you one of them or were you their conqueror,” Crowley guessed, nodding when Aziraphale went still. “There is no way I can imagine you attacking anyone unprovoked. And enslaving others, just, no.”

“We don’t know who we were. What we were capable of. What I was capable of. Maybe I deserved-”

“No! That’s what they want you to think,” hissed Crowley. “They’d love for you to think that you deserved to be treated like, like an actual demon, deserved to be,” Crowley waved their hands to encompass everything that had been done to them. “No. If you deserved it then so did I.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Aziraphale protested. “You, you made constellations, and medicines, and-”

“And was a dragon,” Crowley said. “Not particularly friendly, dragons, are they?”

“I, well, no, but protective spirits are always portrayed as strong in some way...” Aziraphale sighed when Crowley arched their eyebrows. “Yes, fine, but you didn’t have a crown.”

“Didn’t I?” Crowley asked lowly, hold up their hands to their head and splaying them out like a pair of horns. “Mine was just harder to remove, not for lack of trying though. And swords,” they changed their hands into the dark lightning-edged talons, flexing them thoughtfully. “They did take those. And scales, well,” they shrugged, letting their hands return to normal.

“But I _know_ you, and I know you didn’t deserve what they did, what they wanted to do,” said Aziraphale quietly. “I don’t have that clarity with myself.”

Crowley rolled off the couch and stalked over to stand in front of Aziraphale. “Well, _I_ know _you_ and I say you didn’t deserve any of it either. So, do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale sighed heavily. “Yes, I trust you completely. And I see your point. I just don’t like it, not knowing the truth. You know me,” they said, smiling faintly when Crowley smirked.

“I do,” Crowley agreed. “Always about the knowing with you. S’right in your title, _Keeper of Lore and Law_.”

Aziraphale blinked, a shiver of recognition going up their spine. “Keeper of _what_?”

“...Lore and Law.” Crowley’s smile slipped a little. “It’s your wossname, er, sphere? Things you’re called to, things you’re good at? You didn’t know?”

“No,” breathed Aziraphale. “I was told it was _Keeper of the Tree of Knowledge and Life,_ when we were in the Garden. And _Keeper of the Archives_ , when we were sent back. And then keeper of nothing when I was demoted and earthbound.”

Crowley looked down guiltily. “Oh. I, uh, I thought you knew. I’ve always known… but, no, see, they couldn’t actually keep you from it, even if you didn’t know why.” They circled around the desk and gestured to the books and things carefully settled on the shelves they’d created just for them. “I suppose that explains why you hate selling the rare ones so much. Huh, you’d probably love Project Gutenberg now that I think of it.”

“Gutenberg, like the bibles?”

Crowley nodded and waved it away when Aziraphale perked up with interest. “I’ll show you later. My point is that _that’s_ your nature; keeping knowledge and stuff, not some hypothetical conqueror rampaging around smiting people for fun. That’s probably what the crown was really about, being in charge of knowledge is a pretty big job, right? And, well, the sword and scales, that would be the law part, wouldn’t it?”

“I… I suppose they could be.” Aziraphale didn’t let their mind wander to far down that path, looking down at the obsidian again. “That’s too much to think about right now.” Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh and held up the obsidian. “I think we need to get the spell anchors finished and set before we depart tomorrow. They are being far too persistent for my piece of mind and I won’t be able to focus on anything else until it’s done.”

“Yeah, alright. Makes sense,” said Crowley. Not that they’d say anything, but they’d been secretly hoping Aziraphale would offer tend them again. “I, uh, I’ll leave you to it.”

“But... if you’re not too tired, perhaps you’d be willing to help?” Aziraphale asked, giving them a hopeful smile, nervously toying with the piece of obsidian. “Ow.”

Crowley hissed in a breath and bolted over to press their hands over the rather deep cut Aziraphale had gotten when the obsidian slipped, miracling it closed before more than a few drops of blood could escape. “Aziraphale, gah, you know how sharp this stuff is. Am I going to have to get you a ring so you’ve something safe to fidget with?” Aziraphale went still and Crowley forced themself to not react to having said the thought out loud. _Why the heaven did you say that, why why why? They’ve barely admitted they’re your friend and you’ve just practically thrown a courting gift at them. It’s only been a week! A bloody week! You don’t offer a courting gift after just a week!_ They made a show of checking Aziraphale’s hand for any other cuts before daring to look back up.

Oh, the defensive habits of two millennia-- to deny anything that could be misconstrued; to deflect every offhanded overture; to cover up even the tiniest shred of affection; to just outright lie --were like a physical weight on Aziraphale’s chest, stopping their breath for a moment. When Crowley finally looked up, bright yellow eyes meeting Aziraphale’s green, something in Crowley’s expression had Aziraphale whispering the truth. “That would be a very sweet and kind gesture Crowley. I would treasure any gift you wished to give to me.” When Crowley just stared at them, Aziraphale’s heart sank to think that Crowley had just been speaking idly and that they’d, again, made a fool of themself.

_Was that, no, that couldn’t be... Could it? No, don’t overthink it! Best friends give gifts and take care of each other, that’s all they mean. Isn’t it?_ _Oh g-, sa-, someone, don’t just stare! Do something, say something, anything!_ “You, uh, sssure, ‘course, I mean, best friend, want to keep you safe,” said Crowley, relieved when Aziraphale smiled, quickly looking back down at their hands, still clasped together. “But, yeah, no, clearly you can’t be trusted with anything sharp just yet,” they teased, tugging Aziraphale away from the chair and claiming it for themself, grinning when Aziraphale let out an annoyed noise and the tense moment passed. “Obviously you’re not fully recovered, being careless like that.”

“It was an accident,” Aziraphale huffed. The change of topic was a relief, as was the playful tone that invited Aziraphale in on the joke, distracting them from the nasty little voice that whispered, _Of course best friends give each other gifts, how silly to assume anything else. Anything more. You want too much._ “I assure you-”

“I seem to recall quite a lot of scoldings from you, about how careful one has to be when casting ritual magic,” Crowley said smugly, draping their legs over the arm of the chair and grinning when Aziraphale didn’t have a retort to that. “So tell me what you want me to do. What exactly have you been doing?”

“I’ve been enchanting the spell components and the obsidian, as you well know, since that’s part of the spell _you_ created.” Aziraphale rolled their eyes when Crowley slid off the chair to block them from picking up the obsidian they’d been handling. “Really, Crowley, I recall you having quite a few incidents with cutting yourself when you first made your blade.”

“Exactly, I’ve got six thousand years experience on you,” Crowley said triumphantly, grinning even wider when Aziraphale tried to hide their amusement. “I s’pose I could be convinced to let you help, once you’ve shown me what to do.”

Aziraphale rolled their eyes and gave them a fondly exasperated smile. “Very well. Now pay close attention...”

Crowley made sure they progressed at only slightly faster than a snail’s pace, claiming forgetfulness and ignorance so that Aziraphale had to go over everything twice before they even cast any magic. Mostly it was to ensure their friend couldn’t overwork themself again, but also for the simple pleasure of their company; the knowing smiles and playful sighs and occasional laughter that helped to banish the pall that had come with talk of the relics.

In the back of Crowley’s mind, a treacherously hopeful giddy little voice whispered, _That was a **yes**._

Aziraphale realized quickly enough what Crowley was doing and just rolled their eyes, knowing there would be no hurrying them along. And really, it wasn’t as though Aziraphale wanted to rush, not if they were honest with themself. And honesty had them wishing for things they knew they didn’t deserve.

They finished with the obsidian not long before sunrise and together they went outside, Crowley using their power to hide them from prying eyes as well as insisting on carrying the bag of obsidian for Aziraphale. “So why are you using such big pieces? I just chipped some off of the blade.”

“Your building is significantly bigger than mine, you will notice,” Aziraphale said pertly, pulling out Crowley’s compass and actually using it orient themself, leading them around to the east side of the building. “Chips would not suffice to maintain the spell for any length of time over an area this large.” Aziraphale let out another playful sigh at the smirk Crowley was giving them. “As you clearly very well know!”

“Yeah, I, uh, I’ve had to renew the spells a few times over the years,” Crowley admitted. “You’ve improved the whole thing pretty significantly.”

Aziraphale blushed at the compliment and beamed at them. “Thank you. So, I’ve decided to start here and circle counterclockwise,” they announced, holding out a hand for one of the pieces. “Since the East is a powerful point for me and widdershins is associated with secrets and misdirection.”

“Sure, sure,” nodded Crowley, making a show of very carefully giving Aziraphale a piece of obsidian, grinning at the severe frown they received as Aziraphale tried to keep from laughing.

“This is very serious, Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded, failing to keep the laughter from their voice. “If you can’t assist me with the proper frame of mind then I will have to do it by myself,” they threatened emptily.

“Nope, won’t let you do that,” Crowley said smugly, holding up the bag of enchanted obsidian. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with me as I am.”

“Ridiculous is what you are,” huffed Aziraphale, eyes crinkling with humor. They moved away to miracle the obsidian into the foundation, murmuring the first part of the spell that they’d cobbled together from what Crowley remembered and what they could glean from the spell over the shop. They nodded in satisfaction when it was complete, dusting off their hands and turning back to Crowley, concerned at the somber expression they were wearing. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley cleared their throat and shook their head, hating that their emotions had gotten the better of them again. And now they’d have to tell Aziraphale the truth. “Nothing wrong, just, uh, just… I never thought I’d see you here. Never expected you’d want to be here.”

Aziraphale stepped closer and gently rested their hand on Crowley’s arm. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here before,” they said lowly. “But I’m here now... for as long as you want me to be.”

_Forever. Always._ Crowley didn’t say the words but nodded and impulsively summoned up one of their own rings as their heart managed to do a somersault in their chest. They’d worn it constantly while it was in style, and they knew it would make Aziraphale smile. At least, that was the hope. “You know, might be best if you’ve a ring now, just in case. Got lots of sharp obsidian to deal with and all that.” They took Aziraphale’s hand and dropped the ring into it. “Should do until we find something better.”

Aziraphale looked down at the ring Crowley had set in the palm of their hand and their heart skipped a beat in recognition as a surprised laugh escaped. “I don’t know, Crowley, are you sure you can trust me with a treasure this rare and precious?”

A smirk and a shrug. “Eh, I mean, after six thousand years of friendship, I think I’m willing to risk it.”

“It’s quite an honor,” said Aziraphale, holding it up to the light. “Haven’t see one of these in ages.”

“Yeah, well, they went out of style pretty fast,” Crowley sniffed. The longer the moment dragged on, the more nervous they became that they’d offended their friend. “Had an image to protect.”

Aziraphale slid the ring onto their pinky, giving Crowley a surprised look when it fit, but Crowley was looking away, hands jammed into their tiny jean pockets, shoulders tightly hunched with tension, confusing Aziraphale. _Oh dear, do they think I don’t understand they’re just being sweet and silly? Are they worried that I’m offended?_ Aziraphale looked back down at the antiqued silver filigree embossed with scales, a polished piece of dark purple glass set among the coils, smiling as it began to shift through a nebula of colors as it warmed against their skin. “I don’t recall what all the colors are supposed to mean. Indigo was contentment, wasn’t it?”

Relief surged through Crowley at hearing the smile in Aziraphale’s voice and they let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding. They turned to look, ignoring the ridiculous joy that welled up at seeing Aziraphale openly wearing something of theirs, fascinated to watch the colors shifting through the spectrum, curious what they would settle on. “Yeah. And yellow was imagination, I remember that.”

That, of course, wasn’t actually how mood rings work, because they don’t really work as anything but a very crude thermometer, but being Crowley’s for so long meant that it _did_ work like that, and would continue to work like that for Aziraphale, because they both believed it would.

“We’ll have to work out what the others mean as we go along,” said Aziraphale, toying with the ring and giving Crowley a very fond and amused smile. “I’m quite honored you’d trust me with your actual authentic vintage mood ring. I imagine they’re quite rare now.”

“Oh yeah, I mean, it’s been what, over forty whole years since they were invented.” Crowley stuck out their elbow in invitation, nodding their head towards the next counterclockwise point for the spell.

Aziraphale nervously looped their arm through Crowley’s, trying to pretend that the ring, _Crowley’s ring_ , didn’t feel a lot more significant than how it was intended. _Obviously it’s just a playfully silly gift from a friend. Nothing more._ “It’s very pretty. Elegant. I don’t recall them generally being this lovely.” They held out their hand and watched the glass sparkle and the scales gleam in the early morning light. “Where did you find it?”

“Oh, er, I, uh, I made it myself, actually,” Crowley admitted, watching Aziraphale sidelong, smiling a little when Aziraphale gave them a surprised look. “Fit okay?”

“Oh, yes, perfectly.” Aziraphale looked down at the ring, which had settled to a yellow the color of Crowley’s eyes edged with an amber that Aziraphale decided was their anxiety about making sure Crowley was safe. And the very edge was a ring of purple barely discernible beneath the bezel. “I will take very good care of it.”

“I know you will, angel. Just, take better care of yourself too.”

“It was an accident,” Aziraphale huffed, rolling their eyes when Crowley just shrugged. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Nah, probably not,” Crowley grinned.

It didn’t take long to set the rest of the obsidian spell anchors and Aziraphale had Crowley stand inside the perimeter as they activated the spell, pouring as much power as they could into it. Crowley was glad of their sunglasses against the glare of gathering power and they ‘stepped over to steady Aziraphale when they staggered as the completed spell snapped into place. “Hey, hey, I just told you to take better care of yourself.”

Aziraphale panted a little to catch their breath. “Making sure you’re protected is taking care of myself; it will make me worry less,” they said lightly, patting Crowley’s hand and flashing the mood ring. It had shifted to a satisfied blue that was slowly deepening to a contented indigo, with a swirl of chocolate brown that just had to represent hunger, around the star-shaped blaze of tired gray in the center, and the purple edge that hadn’t shifted at all. “But I imagine some pastries would soothe my nerves even more.”

Crowley laughed. “Yes, I imagine they would.”


	25. (Belief) It's A Kind Of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with Agnes/Perdita before they go to see the rest of the witches.
> 
> (I'm being very impulsive, posting this so quickly. We'll see if I regret it in the morning.)

They stopped for pastries on their way to the shop and were rather surprised to find Agnes sitting on the step, waiting for them, her purple and black scooter parked on the curb. “We saw you on the news,” said Agnes with both voices, not waiting for them to say anything as they approached. “But there’s been no answer at the shop’s number and Nanny made me come check on you.”

Crowley surprised her by offering their hand and helping her up to her feet. “Aziraphale doesn’t have a mobile… but, er, I do, if you’d like the number.”

“Oh, uh, yeah!” she said, whipping out her phone and hurriedly tapping away on it before Crowley could change their mind.

“You haven’t been waiting out here for long have you,” worried Aziraphale, unlocking the door and waving them both inside. “Let me make some tea, get you warmed back up.”

“Only been five minutes,” she soothed once Crowley’s number was saved in her phone. “I don’t have the shop’s phone number either,” she hinted.

Aziraphale recited it for her and said, “Terribly sorry to have worried everyone. I suppose I’ll have to do something about replacing the telephones. Er, after I’ve recovered a bit.”

“Why do you need to replace them?” asked Agnes once both numbers were safely saved in her phone, looking around the shop with wide eyes. “Wow, this place is amazing.” She picked up one of the older books, shaking her head when she saw the price and carefully set it back down. “It’s like being in a living museum.”

Crowley darted a look at Aziraphale at that, noticing the slight slumping of their shoulders. “It’s a compliment, angel.”

“Oh yeah, totally!” said Agnes, staring up at the skylight in open-mouthed amazement. “You don’t see buildings like this anymore. I bet you’ve got great acoustics in here.” And with a little sidelong look at them, she began singing a brief duet with herself. There were indeed excellent acoustics.

“My dear, that was lovely,” beamed Aziraphale. “If it’s not presumptuous to ask, how, er, how did you come to have two voices?”

“Oh, well, I’ve always had two as far as I can recall, but mostly only one of me spoke up until I was around 17. Nanny says it’s from the magic needing an outlet. Granny thinks it’s from a local uh, somebody, meddling where they shouldn’t. But now that my magic has settled in it’s turned out alright, though occasionally she says things I don’t mean to say, like, er, the wing thing.”

“Ah, the little voice inside ended up not staying inside,” said Aziraphale curiously.

“Bet that’s caused some trouble,” Crowley grinned, getting a reluctant laugh from Agnes.

“Yeah, it has. Almost lost us a gig because of it recently, but my mates covered for me.” She had been slowly wandering around but stopped when something crunched under her boot. It was the shattered remains of the antique telephone they’d disintegrated. “Oh, I see why you need to replace it. What happened?”

“We came through the phone lines,” Crowley answered, prodding curiously at the slightly more modern telephone that sat beside the antique register near the front, snorting as it slowly collapsed in on itself. “To help the kids you saw. Looks like we somehow managed to fry both of them. I haven’t done that in years though, why- oh.” They looked up at Aziraphale, who was happily puttering with the tea. “Angel, had you ever gone through the lines before?”

“No, definitely not. Wasn’t allowed, orders from,” they pointed upwards. “If I hadn’t had the shop I wouldn’t have even been allowed to use the telephone at all,” Aziraphale informed them. “They really didn’t like me using technology. Used to be anything I used that was newer than about 1950 would end up breaking after a minute or two.” Aziraphale shrugged at the horrified expressions they were both wearing. “I didn’t have a choice. It was what it was.”

“Well, now you’re free to have whatever you like,” said Crowley. “Sky’s the limit.”

“I want what I had,” said Aziraphale primly, setting out the tea on the table, along with the pastries. They waved Agnes into a chair and offered her the first choice of pastries, sharing a little smile with her as Crowley grumbled and flung themself onto the couch. “I have more than enough on my mind without having to learn some newfangled device.”

“One touch tone phone, that’s all I’m asking,” Crowley wheedled, devouring the pastry Aziraphale gave them in about three bites. “Something you can dial without an actual dial. Rotary phones, can you believe that? One was a big ornate job, wood and cast iron, like something out of a silent film. Had to miracle them to work with the modern systems, took half an hour to dial international.”

“It did not,” Aziraphale protested, handing Crowley their mug of tea. “You timed it that one time, it was less than five minutes.”

“But it _felt_ like half an hour. C’mon, angel.”

“No. I don’t want a modern phone in here. They’re too loud and too, too modern.” Aziraphale instinctively began twisting their hands together at the slight anxiety the thought of a modern phone was giving them, starting a little when they felt Crowley’s ring where they’d begun to expect none. They stared down at it, stroking their thumb over the glass as a hint of orange began to overtake the blue. “I just need to go slow with this,” they murmured, looking back at Crowley, their eyes pleading with them to understand.

Crowley sighed and nodded. “Just teasing, angel. Whatever you want, that’s what you get.”

Agnes looked between the two of them, noticing the fond smile Aziraphale gave Crowley, who blushed just the slightest, and thought to herself, _What do you know, Granny and Nanny were both right_. “You know… there are modern phones that look antique, if you’d like to try something modern that wouldn’t feel modern. There are some pretty fancy ones too, with press buttons instead of a dial and even caller ID and such,” said Agnes, taking a sip of her tea to hide her grin when Crowley turned to look hopefully at Aziraphale, eyebrows arched. “And you can set the loudness of the ring, or turn it off, even.”

Aziraphale let out a slow breath and sat with the idea for a moment, finding that they were somewhat intrigued by the idea. “I’m willing to give it a try,” Aziraphale said, rolling their eyes when Crowley eagerly rolled off the couch and stalked to the back where the ornate phone had been.

“How fancy do you want it?”

“I want that one just as it was,” Aziraphale said with a slight edge to their tone.

“Right,” said Crowley, snapping their fingers and nodding in satisfaction as an exact replica of Aziraphale’s old phone appeared on the table where it had sat since it was installed a great many years earlier. They sauntered back to the front, waving their hand to remove the sad remains of the other phone, canting their head to size up what would fit best.

“Crowley, really, you don’t have to-”

“Psh, I know. But this is fun.” Crowley looked to Agnes and gestured at the empty corner where the telephone had been. “How fancy do you think? I mean, might as well go all out, right?”

She grinned and nodded. “Oh, absolutely. Authentic faux ivory, gold accents, the works.”

Crowley snapped their fingers and there was a moment of silence before Agnes snorted out a laugh and Aziraphale said firmly with an undertone of amusement, “No, definitely not. There’s so much gold, someone is bound to try to steal it. And why are there swans? It’s a telephone, I don’t need it to be adorned with a pair of swans. That’s just too much, even for me.”

Crowley bit back their own laughter. “Yeah, got carried away. Alright, try two.” Another snap and the swans were gone, and the gold adornments had lessened and been turned to a light bronze, and the faux ivory had become darkly stained wood. “Oh, that’s better, isn’t that better?”

“I like that,” Agnes agreed. “But what do you think? Our opinions are secondary here,” she said to Aziraphale, who stood and walked over to the desk to inspect the phone. They picked up the handset, nodding to hear the dial tone, running their fingers over the faux dial that had buttons where the numbers used to be and a little display in the center where the telephone number used to be written down.

After a moment, when nothing happened, they nodded and set the receiver back into the cradle. “I will give it a try. Thank you, Crowley, you’re being very generous with me today.”

“Eh, it’s nothing,” Crowley said, waving their words away, darting a look at Agnes before bumping their shoulder lightly against Aziraphale’s and flopping back down on the couch. “You worked yourself pretty hard to put protections over the flat, a couple of bits of magic in return is the least I can do.”

“Oh yes, Nanny told me to tell you that the rest of the components have been collected and will be ready in time for equinox. She hasn’t asked any wizards yet but she seemed to think you’d have a few lined up soon?”

“Yeah, we’re meeting with some tomorrow, at Esk’s university?”

Agnes nodded and made a face. “Have you been there before?” she asked. When they both shook their heads she shuddered a little and cupped her tea to ward off the chill she’d gotten just thinking about it. “It used to be really great, a little like here, really, all spooky but lovely, if that makes sense? But now it’s gone creepy. Esk says enrollment is way down because of it, which, usually people are ready to brawl to get in there.”

“Hmm,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully. “So, spooky is good but creepy is bad?”

“Yeah, well, no, there’s good and bad of both,” said Crowley.

Agnes gestured at Crowley’s and her own clothes, taking in her black coat accented with dark purple on the cuffs, collar and lining, her black and metallic silver patterned skater dress and black leggings, telling Aziraphale, “Like, liking black because it’s cool and mysterious, spooky good; liking black to hide blood spatter, creepy bad.”

Crowley snorted out a laugh but nodded in agreement. “Lots of people like most spooky, some uncanny, and a little creepy. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Like urban legends and horror stories. Because it isn’t a real danger, or, er, hiding something out to harm, right, it’s all in fun,” Agnes explained. “But then there’s stuff that feels off in a dangerous way, like there’s something lurking just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to attack. That’s how it feels now.”

“Ahh,” said Aziraphale, nodding in understanding. “Thank you for explaining, that will help us better prepare for tomorrow. There are Things that can and do lurk that way, and where magic is concerned they are extremely dangerous. I, er, do you think I should bring the angel’s sword?” they asked Crowley.

Crowley considered and finally nodded. “Probably. I still think it’s you more than the weapon-” They broke off when they saw Agnes’ wide eyed expression of intrigue. “Have you heard of Biers?”

“Yeah?” Her eyes went even wider. “Oh! Wait, that was _real?!”_ she demanded, whipping out her phone and quickly typing in a text before pulling up a video sharing app. “Someone posted a hacked feed last night and it kinda exploded because everyone’s saying it’s a prank but a few are saying it’s real and the government is covering it up… Here we go.” She held out her phone so they could see another grainy video from a security camera down the block from Biers, showing the angels arriving in a flash of light. The blood and gore of the actual fight was thankfully too blurry to make out but the last demon going up in flames was quite clear, as was the sudden appearance of two figures at the end of a long span of no action, with the one in black picking up one of the swords before the video abruptly ends in static. “That was you at the end, wasn’t it?” she realized.

Aziraphale and Crowley were staring at one another as they slowly nodded in answer. “Do you think they’ll see?” Aziraphale worried, twisting Crowley’s ring anxiously around their finger. “I mean, it’s rather hard to discern details in that recording, but if they discover that you can pick up an angel’s sword… I don’t know how they’ll react to that.”

“I doubt they’ll see it,” said Crowley, but there was an edge of doubt in their tone. “Not that it matters, they keep coming after us anyway. Besides, you’re the one who can light it, not me. They probably won’t be thrilled with _you_ having a sword again after six thousand years.”

Aziraphale shook their head at that. “It’s not like it’s the, my, real sword.” They gave Agnes a kind smile when they noticed the stunned expression on her face. “Are you alright, dear?”

“I, uh, well, it’s just, it’s one thing to know you’re… _you,_ in the abstract,” she admitted. “It’s, um, a little much to take in, honestly.” She laughed a little damply when Aziraphale miracled her a handkerchief. “It must be hard for you,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “I mean, I cry when butterflies die, so maybe it’s just me-”

“No,” said Crowley, again surprising her, “not just you. It is hard, getting attached, knowing… well, but people do it all the time, right? No guarantees in life. It’s worth it, in the end.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Aziraphale agreed. “I’ve tried, a few times, to be without,” they waved their hands to encompass what they were discussing but mostly it encompassed Crowley, who went still. “And I was quite a miserable mess. I really cannot recommend that course of action, whatsoever,” they said, teasing a small smile from Agnes. “And even without a body, celestials seek each other out. I think it’s natural for a conscious being to seek out others, to form bonds, perhaps in spite of however brief they might be.”

“But with us? What can you get out of that?” Agnes asked. “I’ve always wondered that- why bother with us? I mean, _celestial_ … And we’re just,” a wave to take in everything.

“We got attached,” said Aziraphale with a faint smile. “It is a cold dark uncaring world out there but we could make it just that little bit better for you. And in turn, you make it better for us.”

“We do?”

“Oh, yes,” said Crowley, leaning towards her. “Music, just so much music, and so many different kinds, souls just full of it, and, and-”

“Prose, and poetry, and the most fabulous stories that you just create from inside yourselves,” Aziraphale interjected. “But also books upon books seeking understanding of yourselves and everything-”

“And you don’t stop creating and striving, even when things are bad. In spite of when things are bad.”

“And though we can’t really fix it when things are bad, we can help you help fix it. More so, we want to help you.” Aziraphale gave her a considering look and told her, “And humans can believe in things so strongly that it changes them.”

When Agnes shook her head Crowley waved at the many wondrous things surrounding them. “Yes. You think things up and then you make them happen. Demons aren’t imaginative at all.”

“Neither are angels,” agreed Aziraphale. They sighed and looked at the new phone. “Neither am I.”

“That, that’s not true at all. You’re thinking things up all the time,” said Crowley. “The compasses? That was brilliant, always thought so. Right, and figuring out how to find the, er, boy? Actually finding the boy? And a way to get yourself to Tadfield without your own body? Imagining that I could actually do something when I was sure we were out of options and time? And all that was with heaven breathing down your neck for centuries on end. Don’t sell yourself short, angel.” Crowley nodded emphatically and pulled out Aziraphale’s compass and offered it to Agnes when Aziraphale continued to shake their head. “Look, she’ll tell you. Aziraphale enchanted these with like, what, five different spells mixed together? All so we could talk to each other from just about anywhere in the world without being listened in on.”

“Ooh, really? That is rather clever,” she agreed, carefully taking it and popping it open. “And it’s so subtle, I can barely tell there’s magic on it.” She beamed at Aziraphale, who blushed. “Being imaginative doesn’t always require being showy. I mean, your street drama was very well done, everyone thought so, and it was a well balanced mix of high drama and subtle but clear undertones. Nanny thought the black handkerchief was an excellent touch,” Agnes said offhandedly, smiling to herself when Aziraphale darted a look at Crowley and somehow managed to blush even more. “And the dramatic posing during the faint,” she said to Crowley, miming a chef’s kiss. They blushed but laughed and bowed. “So generally, angels and demons don’t have imaginations?” she asked. When they both nodded she said, “But you clearly do. Why? How?”

They looked at one another and back at her and Aziraphale shrugged. “Good question. Not actually sure. It certainly wasn’t appreciated, I can tell you that.”

“Could be we were always like this,” shrugged Crowley. “Actually, yeah, we were always the bast-, er, odd ones out.”

“You know, I don’t really recall any of the others ever being worried about anything. Do you?”

“Nah, not a one,” Crowley agreed. “And it’s not even hatred, between them, is it? It’s a rivalry, sure, but they set that aside fast enough when the mood struck,” they said bitingly, thinking of the Legion who had carried the vessel of hellfire up into heaven. “Wait, shouldn’t they have been hot-footing it when they crossed-”

Aziraphale was shaking their head before Crowley could finish the question. “They were invited. We very much were not. I know it seems laughable, but that’s extremely old, I don’t know that you can really call it magic. Belief, perhaps? But inviting someone into your space has always been a very powerful gesture. Magically speaking, even when the invitation is temporary, it gives the one invited in immunity to the normal protections. That’s how I could bring you through wards- they trusted me, I trusted you, therefor… You know, I wonder if repressing their imaginations is how they deal with the knurd that being corporeal doesn’t mitigate,” admitted Aziraphale.

“Knurd?” Agnes echoed.

“Er, like being so sober that it hurts; being aware of everything all the time without a break, like, uh, what you were talking about earlier.” Crowley nodded at her expression. “We’ve got ways of tuning the worst parts out but being corporeal works way better. Being drunk and corporeal is best on the really bad days. And there have been some really bad days.”

“And the more you care, the worse it hurts,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Oh.” Agnes looked between the two of them, two amazingly powerful beings who’d decided to throw their lot in with humanity and felt a moment of blade-edge clarity she knew would thankfully pass. “Love.” She smiled at their expressions. “You’ve learned how to love, that’s the difference. It’s not just a feeling, it’s also an action and a choice, to not just do the right thing when it’s easy but also when it’s uncomfortable, when it’s painful, when it’s dangerous.” She reached over and set her hand over Aziraphale’s. “And we’re so lucky, that you kept choosing us,” she said, beaming a smile at Crowley. “Both of you.”

Crowley was shaking their head in denial when the phone rang, startling all of them and Aziraphale patted Agnes’ hand fondly and got up to cautiously answer it. “Hello? Oh, Eunice, how- oh, you saw the news,” they said, sharing a look with Crowley and Agnes. “I’m terribly sorry to have worried everyone. Crowley very kindly fixed the telephone for me today you see...”

Crowley lurched up from the couch and came over to sit in Aziraphale’s chair while they talked on the phone. “You do know what I wasss, don’t you?” they hissed at Agnes, pulling off their glasses and tossing them onto the table. “Demon, right?” She smirked and picked up their glasses, wordlessly asking if she could try them on. Crowley sniffed and shrugged, looking towards Aziraphale, who was animatedly telling Eunice the whole story, a big smile on their face. “I’m not the one you should be pleased about.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” said Agnes’ inner, snarkier voice, pulling down the glasses to look over the rims at Crowley. “Big bad demon who decided to burn their bridges while standing on them. Not something you’d do on a whim, is it? Had to have a rather strong motivation, I’m thinking, to put it all on the line like that.” She pointedly looked over her shoulder at Aziraphale but shrugged, lounging back in her chair. “But, hey, _I’m_ only human. What’s the worst you’ve done? Has to be lots over the years. Convince me that Aziraphale, and Granny, and Nanny, and Magrat, and Esk, and me, and Tiffany are all wrong about you.”

Crowley stared at her for a very long moment, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t back down and they couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride, that she was one of _theirs_. “Well, er, mostly tempted people to do bad... Uh, ah, dropped a bomb on a church.”

Agnes just smirked. “And how many people were in the church?”

“Er… three. And Aziraphale. And me.” Her eyebrow twitched upwards and Crowley confessed, “And they were nazis who were blackmailing and killing their way around London and were trying to make Aziraphale fall, but it’s still a bomb on a church.”

“Hmm. Yeah, no, not buying it.”

They hissed out a breath. “Um, brought down the mobile networks a couple of times.”

“Ooh, terrible. Not like human error doesn’t do that on the regular.”

Pride was definitely warring with annoyance now. “Vanished people.” They snapped their fingers, making the glasses disappear off of her face. “Poof, gone.”

She started a little, but there was only the mildest of interest in her expression. “Killed them?”

Crowley fidgeted under her stare and snapped the glasses back onto her face. “No. Mostly just sent them home, takes less power to send them where they want to go. Almost impossible to send them where they don’t want to go.”

“Bet that messed with their heads. Certainly not nice, but I’m not seeing the deep down evil here?”

They let out a heavy sigh. “Altered the design of the M25 into the dread sigil Odegra, making it into a giant prayer-wheel to Satan, that was probably the worst, honestly.”

She nodded thoughtfully but then shook her head. “That would be impressive, if it actually worked that way.” She smiled sharply at their scowl. “Got to have belief. Now clearly someone believed it was something, because I mean, the wall of fire was all over the news. But it didn’t actually do much in the long run, though, did it? All got undone in the end. In fact, are you sure it’s still Odegra?”

Crowley stared at her for a moment before pulling out their phone to look at the map app, blinking in shock. The road was still a terrible mess, but somehow _didn’t_ represent Odegra anymore. “How the _hell_ -”

Agnes grinned. “Good question. No idea! But we all noticed it. We _thought_ it was undone when everything else was undone, but now we’re not so sure.” She leaned towards them and rested her hand over theirs, speaking with both voices again. “We need you on our side Crowley. Both of you. We _want_ you on our side. Both of you. You balance each other out, right? Keep each other from losing your way.” There was something timeless in her eyes, something that reminded Crowley very much of that first meeting with Granny Weatherwax. “I have a little bit of experience with that myself. So never doubt for a moment that we want the honest trickster just as much as we want the dishonest martyr. Need them both equally.”

Crowley held her hand as she shivered a little and blinked away the frightening spark that had been in her eyes, shakily taking a sip of her tea and giving them a shaky smile. “Also, as much as I love them, you are way more stylish than Aziraphale. _Tartan_? Really?”

Crowley let out a raucous laugh and patted her hand, waving when she went to pull off the glasses. “I knew I liked you. Keep the glasses, got a million of ‘em.”

Agnes blushed and asked much more shyly, “Can I ask where you got your jacket from?”

Crowley looked down at it and shrugged. “Oh, um, magicked it up after seeing it in some magazine or other. But I’m getting bored with it, also, not the best memories tied with it now. Time for a change. You know, I meant to ask you last week where’d you gotten yours? I love that style.”

Agnes reluctantly admitted, “I made it myself. I’ve got a little side business going, making clothes and costumes. There, uh, there’s not really much stylish stuff made for fat people. Especially broke fat people.”

“See, infinite creativity,” Crowley smiled. “Think a thing up, make it. So, how about a trade?” Agnes blinked, and blinked again, looking down at herself and back at Crowley, who grinned and shrugged out of their jacket, pulling out their phone and the tartan handkerchief as well as Aziraphale’s compass from the pockets before offering it to her. “You’re not doubting me, are you?”

“No, but I could make you a new one, with red instead of purple-”

Crowley shook their head and gave her a sly smile. “Nah. I can turn it red if I want after all. I mean, unless you don’t really like this one that much. But I think I, of all people, know when someone is coveting something, hmm?” They leaned forward and whispered, “Let me tempt you.”

She laughed and began emptying her pockets, of which there were a great many more. There was a water bottle, her wallet, her phone, a pack of tissues, a pack of gum, a handful of loose coins and a sad lint-covered throat lozenge that had been forgotten since the last time she’d had a cold. “Are you sure?” she made herself ask before accepting the very stylish jacket that somehow smelled of crisp autumn days and moonlight. She carefully slipped it on, knowing it would but still surprised when it fit perfectly.

Crowley whipped Agnes’ longer coat around their shoulders and slipped it on, grinning with pleasure. “I got the better part of this bargain. It’s so warm!”

Agnes couldn’t help the happy laugh the bubbled up at seeing Crowley snuggle into the coat she had designed and created herself. “I’m happy to suffer for fashion, this time,” she said, sticking what she could into the pockets.

“I’ve really missed having pockets,” Crowley said, slipping Aziraphale’s compass into the interior pocket over their heart. “In the summer who cares, but now it’s getting cold...”

“Can’t you just, magic yourself warm?” she asked, unable to keep herself from running her hands over the sleeves and grinning. “My mates are going to be so jealous.”

“Eh, why waste energy when I can just put on a warmer coat,” Crowley shrugged, lounging back into Aziraphale’s chair. “So if you like that style that much, why not make one?”

“Oh. Well.” She let out a sigh. “Too frivolous, making something just for fashion’s sake. Has to be useful too, or I’ll feel bad about wasting money.”

“Ah. Well, lucky for us we both had what the other wanted, isn’t it?” Crowley asked with a slight smile.

She grinned and hugged her new jacked to herself. “Very lucky.”

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asked, returning to the table and their conversation, doing a double-take to see Crowley in Agnes’ black and purple coat. “Obviously I missed something.”

“Eh, thought it was time for a change,” said Crowley with a shrug, slipping out of Aziraphale’s chair. “Agnes was kind enough to indulge me in a little trade. Look how warm.”

Aziraphale stroked a hand over the fabric on Crowley’s proffered arm and frowned. “That is nice. But that doesn’t seem like a fair trade, taking her lovely warm coat in exchange for your little lightweight thing.”

“I wanted to,” spoke up Agnes, nodding at Aziraphale’s unsure look. “Really. I can always make myself another one if I miss it that much. With even more pockets,” she teased, making Crowley laugh.

“I’ll have to find something even better to trade you for then,” they said, hastily slipping the tartan handkerchief into one of their pockets before Aziraphale could notice it. “We should probably get going if we’re going to get to Nanny’s on time.”

“Nanny’s?” asked Aziraphale. “I thought we were going to Granny’s?”

They both looked to Agnes, who shook her head. “That was the other part of the message I was sent with, we’re meeting at Magrat’s today. Apparently no one thought to tell you last week, sorry ‘bout that.” She looked down at her own phone and swore, jumping up from her seat. “Dammit, I’m going to miss the bus. Can I leave my scooter outside?”

“Oh, yes, it’ll be fine, I’ll tell the neighbors to keep an eye on it,” Aziraphale assured her.

Crowley smirked and waited expectantly for Aziraphale to preemptively offer her a ride. But then Aziraphale began solicitously walking Agnes to the door, asking if she was sure she’d be warm enough, but the offer of a ride didn’t happen and continued to not happen and Crowley just watched in confusion. They even paused at the threshold but it still didn’t happen, forcing Crowley to clear their throat. When they both turned, Crowley gestured mutely out the window to where the Bentley was parked but Aziraphale and Agnes just frowned in confusion so Crowley finally said, “We, uh, we can give you a ride? If you like?”

“Really? That’d be great! Oh, um.” She leaned close to Aziraphale and whispered urgently into their ear.

Aziraphale smiled and said, “Mrs. Chan will let you use the necessary in the grocery around the corner, just tell her I sent you. And tell her about your, er, vehicle.”

“Okay! Be right back,” Agnes promised with a grin, bouncing out of the shop and hurrying away.

“What was that about?” Crowley asked, shaking their head when Aziraphale gave them an incredulous look. “No, not that, the offering her a ride thing.”

“Oh, well.” Aziraphale clasped their hands together to keep their sudden nerves in check and admitted, “I do realize that I rather bullied you into giving Anathema a ride that night, but you _had_ just hit her with your car and I did take off the bicycle rack as soon as we’d dropped her off-”

“It’s not about the bleeding bike rack,” huffed Crowley, thrown completely off kilter by the entire situation. “I just, ‘snot like you, to not, I mean, she’s one of _ours_ , why wouldn’t you offer her a ride?”

Aziraphale blinked and looked out at the Bentley and looked back at Crowley, clearly baffled. “Crowley, I… it, it’s not my place, to offer other people rides in your car. It was rather rude and presumptuous of me, even with the circumstances-”

Inarticulate noises escaped Crowley before they could angrily interject, “Now you’re worried about being _nice_? To _me_? Like I’m some kind of stranger?”

Aziraphale threw their hands up in frustration. “I don’t understand your hatred of niceness, but what it’s _about_ , is me trying to treat you the way you _deserve_! Because making demands on you and your car is rude and disrespectful and not how I want to treat my best friend.”

The angry annoyance drained out of Crowley at that. “Oh. Uh.” They stepped closer to Aziraphale, offering their hand and when Aziraphale took it, they explained, “See, I never really saw it that way. ‘Cause if I let you do the polite stuff, then I could, you know, keep up appearances. Can’t offer people rides, as a demon. But, oh damn, the angel did, guess I’m stuck giving this poor girl a ride after running her over. Probably got demerits for not hitting more people- it’s a joke! She was the only one, angel and it was an accident!”

“I know, I do know.” Aziraphale looked down at their clasped hands and said gently, “But you’re not a demon anymore, Crowley. You can be as kind and generous as you like, now; sky’s the limit.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, point taken. We’ve both got some adjusting to do.” Crowley looked down at their clasped hands and up at Aziraphale’s face and the small relieved and ever-so-slightly-mischievous smile they were wearing as they stared expectantly out the door. “Thanks. For explaining.” Crowley impulsively leaned over and brushed a light kiss across Aziraphale’s cheek, knowing they were bright red as they hurried out the door towards the Bentley, hastily summoning up a fresh pair of sunglasses.

Aziraphale stood frozen, hand to hotly blushing cheek for what seemed an eternity, scolding their treacherously aching heart, _It doesn’t mean anything more than gratitude. It’s more than you deserve, after centuries of ill treatment. Don’t ruin this with your foolishness!_ They hastily dropped their hand and smiled when Agnes stuck her head in the door, asking lightly, “All set? Just let me get the lights.” They took the moment it took to turn off the lights to collect themself before joining her on the step and locking the door.

“Did, er, did Nanny happen to warn you about Crowley’s driving?” Aziraphale asked, giving her a concerned look when she laughed.

“You haven’t driven with Nanny,” Agnes said, eagerly climbing into the back seat. “At least you two can perform miracles! Oh yeah, Nanny also wanted me to remind you-”

“Sushi,” said Crowley, giving her a grin in the mirror and shifting the car into gear. “On it.”


	26. Where There's A Witch And A Witchfinder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a few prophecies in Agnes' book that are yet to be deciphered. Anathema and Newt meet a lot of witches.

“So,” said Newt, squinting hopelessly at the faded signpost set in the brambles at the edge of yet another poorly maintained crossroads. They’d gotten directions on the way out of Tadfield that had proven less than direct. He turned off the car’s engine in hopes of preserving the small reserve of petrol that remained and turned to Anathema. “Explain it to me again? We’re trying to find a witch queen, and her coven? Of bees?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so, but these have always been some of the odder ones,” Anathema admitted, frowning down at the note cards, reading them out loud for his benefit. They read:  
_#3_  
Maiden Crone’s Mother’s curse, cast whilst upon her pyre,  
Must be unspoke and broken, if ye will have your heart’s desire.  
The bane of foul Adultery, thwarted by offspring’s dearth,  
Their casualties decided, when the angel is cast to earth.

_#4247  
Follow ye the dragon and the gryphon, flying west to Lankertonne in their chariot of night, for therein gatheres a covyne upon the highest hill. Find ye there the 3: the queen bee maiden, the mother whose now a crone, and the brooding Queen of Lanker; with them shall be the diva of two voices and the finder of secret magics. Both, suppe with them and sippe of the blessed fire water and they will safeguard ye as I cannot in the dayes to come._

“I mean, dragon? Gryphon? Those could mean anything- an emblem for a family, an icon on a piece of clothing, an obscure brand, or town, or vehicle! No one could figure out where Lankertonne was either, if it was a place and not a person or something else entirely, and we’d all pretty much given up on it. We thought this was something to happen before the end of the world, with the bit about safeguarding, but apparently not. If the TV hadn’t gotten stuck on that one station, I never would have figured it out.”

Newt hunched his shoulders and told her again, “I, er, I really am sorry about that-”

She smiled and patted his arm. “Really, it’s okay. If it hadn’t gotten stuck, I never would have seen the story on the forgotten Kingdom of _Lancre_ last night, which was a self-proclaimed little kingdom from the fourteenth century that nobody wanted because it’s all rocks. Apparently everyone who knew about it died from plague and they never actually ceded power to the monarchy but recently the former mayor’s assistant was discovered to be the last heir and now their wife is mayor of the town. It makes so much sense!”

Newt just stared at her fondly, smiling faintly. “I think you’re going to have to explain that again, a little slower this time. What do those two have to do with each other?”

“They’re the only two prophecies that mention a maiden, a mother, and a crone and she even references them as ‘the 3’ which is the number of the first prophecy. And the current mayor of Lancretown, right, is married to the last heir of the royal line of Lancre, making her a queen, kinda. And I saw an interview with her and her husband, and she definitely gives off witch vibes. She had on a lot of occult jewelery anyway. Can’t see auras in recordings, so not a hundred percent sure if she’s actually a witch or just thinks she is but there was a fat wrinkly old woman grinning and waving in the background who could totally be a crone.” She waved the cards again for emphasis. “And we need to find a crone to remove your curse-” Anathema bit back her words when Newt frowned at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you before, but, I’m pretty sure the first prediction has something to do with you.”

Newt frowned down at the cards and back up into Anathema’s eyes, and somehow it wasn’t pity there, as he always expected to find. There were so many other things, but never pity, or scorn, which he’d come to expect with how often he ruined any bit of electronics he came into contact with. “I’m not sure I like that.”

Anathema smiled gently, trying to hide her amusement at his grumpy expression, and rested her hand on his arm. When he looked back at her, she gave him an encouraging smile. “I know you don’t like it, but I think Agnes is offering you an olive branch.” _And a warning_ , Anathema didn’t say. Newt was already so jumpy, no need to give the man a panic attack on top of everything else. “See here? ‘ _The bane of foul Adultery.’_ She’s saying that you’re cursed and that one of these witches can take it off of you.”

“Oh, _Adultery_ , of course. Witchfinder Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer. I suppose that makes some sort of terrible sense.” Newt looked back down at the cards and then out at the deserted crossroads. “I… I never told you, but uh, there’s… there is a bit of family history that my dad used to tell me about, that he’d always laugh about but… I think you’re right, about a curse. And, uh, I think it eventually kills us.”

Anathema’s smile vanished and she looked back down at the cards, for a moment feeling almost betrayed by Agnes, but there, the warning was there for her too, wasn’t it? _If ye will have your heart’s desire._ Anathema had begun to realize that Newt- silly, sweet, always-questioning Newt, might really be one of her heart’s desires. Even if their whirlwind feelings faded, just knowing he’d always be the one person in her life who didn’t expect her to always do what was expected of her, who supported and encouraged her to do the _unexpected_ thing; it was, for want of a better word, miraculous. “Tell me?” she asked.

“It’s, uh, well, the way Dad put it, the men in the family are prone to bad luck. Really, really bad luck. Anything we get interested in, like me with computers? There will be accidents, little ones at first, but they get worse as time goes on and if we keep pursuing it, um, well, generally we end up dying because of it about the time we’re hitting our mid-thirties.” Newt rubbed at his eyes and admitted, “I think it got Dad too.”

Anathema reached over and enfolded him in a hug. “I’m so sorry, Newt. How long..?”

“Almost ten years ago. It was so stupid too.” Newt rubbed at his eyes, blinking hard to make the tears go away. “Dad was, well, flighty. Couldn’t stick with anything for more than a few months, maybe a year. Er, Mom and me included. They got divorced when I was a baby. But Dad usually remembered my birthday and would call or come visit, when I was younger at least. He said it was because they were out in the countryside looking at farms, which was Dad’s obsession at the time, and Mom suddenly went into labor in this nowhere little village. And Dad got sick trying to outdrink the midwife who luckily happened to be there to deliver me. He said it was the last time he drank like that and it apparently cured him of his interest in farming, thankfully. Anyway, where was I, oh yeah, Dad jumped from interest to interest so fast I think the curse couldn’t keep up with him. Until right before his 40th birthday, when he apparently decided to learn to fly.”

“Oh my god, Newt-”

“No, see, here’s the stupid part. He hadn’t even had any lessons yet. I’d be able to shrug it off if the plane had crashed, I mean, terrible but accidents happen. But he was just getting out of the car at the hangar when a chunk of, er, ‘ice’ from a plane hit him. Complete freak accident. And he’s not even the weirdest one.”

When he just stared out the windshield for a long moment, Anathema murmured, “You don’t have to tell me any more. But Agnes is offering you an out. If we can find the right witch, she can remove the curse.”

“We don’t know for sure that she can,” said Newt, reluctantly meeting her eyes. “I mean, it’s been hundreds of years. I’ve a feeling most of the men in my family have died horrible ridiculous deaths because of Adultery’s obsession with murdering witches.”

“And here’s your chance to put an end to it, once and for all,” Anathema said, holding up the cards. “And maybe she won’t help, or won’t be able to help, or the world will get hit with an asteroid next week and it won’t matter, but don’t give up before we’ve even tried. Okay?”

Newt let out a heavy sigh and nodded, smiling when she grinned at him. “Only one problem.” He waved at the unreadable signpost. “We’re lost.”

She let out a sigh of her own and glared down at the cards and at her phone, whose GPS had stopped working right about the time they’d arrived at the crossroads. “Don’t you have a map?”

Newt grimaced and shook his head. “I think it fell out when the car rolled into the ditch last week.”

“Of course it did.” She made a face, looking out at the faded signpost, and just couldn’t bring herself to get out of the car to go and try to decipher the peeled paint. “How much gas, uh, petrol is left?

“Not very much. Maybe twenty miles if it’s mostly downhill and we have a tailwind,” he admitted.

She let out a sigh and looked skyward. “Alright Agnes, we’ve gotten this far. Now what?”

Newt looked at her, and then up at the dingy ceiling of the car, waiting to see if there was any answer. They weren’t sitting there long before he snapped his gaze back to Anathema’s face and her expression told him that she was also hearing the sound of an approaching engine. Up until that point there had only been the sound of the breeze and the insects in the greenery, and _plink plink_ of the engine cooling. At least, Newt hoped it was just that and not something catastrophic. “Which way is it coming from?” Newt asked, worriedly looking behind them, but the road that way was clear at least.

Anathema had her eyes closed, a frown of concentration on her face as she listened to the quickly approaching engine, and her eyes popped open in sudden recognition as she turned to look expectantly at the road to their right. “It’s them!”

“Them?” Newt followed her gaze, and it was almost slow motion as a sleek black Bentley soared by, the golden haired person who he vaguely recalled wielding a fiery sword at the airbase framed in the passenger window, and shadowed behind them in the driver seat, the red head who’d returned Anathema’s book. Before Newt could even get into gear they’d vanished down the left hand road.

“There was a woman in the car with them,” Anathema said thoughtfully as they rattled down the road in faint pursuit. “It was fast, but her aura… I think she was a witch!”

Newt nodded, gritting his teeth as they rattled over a particularly bad rut. “You don’t think they-”

“Kidnapped her?” Anathema guessed, smiling when Newt shrugged sheepishly. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know what they are, besides not human, but they were trying to save the world along with the rest of us.”

“You… you don’t think they’ll be mad? That we’re following them?” Newt worried. “If they’re er, the dragon and the gryphon?”

Anathema’s brows drew together as she stared down at the cards and finally she shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, they’re our only lead right now. And it’s not like they’ll know we were following them, since I doubt we’re going to catch up with them,” she said with a teasing smile, patting the dashboard as though consoling an old hound who couldn’t keep up with the younger pups anymore. “It’s alright, Dick, I know you’re doing your best.”

A laugh bubbled up and escaped Newt, even as they hit another rut and it felt like his brain was rattled a bit, but he smiled at Anathema, who let out a laugh of her own as they trailed farther and farther behind.

The petrol station that marked the edge of Lancretown was like an oasis in the desert and they rattled up to the pump on the last of the fumes left in the tank. While Newt babied the car, Anathema got out to stretch, stopping dead when she saw the woman at the only other pump.

Her aura screamed witch but she was dressed like a strict school teacher in dark dusty colors that weren’t quite black, and there was an odd wide-brimmed hat in the passenger side seat of her car trimmed with garishly bright faux flowers with what Anathema would swear was a toad hidden among them.

Anathema quickly turned away before the woman noticed her staring, and bolted around the car before Newt could touch the pump, belatedly realizing it was surprisingly modern and computerized. “How about I deal with this and maybe you ask inside for directions?”

Newt backed away from the pump with a sigh of relief, but shook his head at her suggestion. “They’ll think I’m mad, asking where I can go to see the queen.”

“Right, but you can ask were to see the Mayor,” Anathema reminded him, shooing him away.

“Oh, right.” Newt let himself into the little shop, poking about a bit before working up the nerve to talk to the man sitting behind the register. It wasn’t that he was particularly imposing, he wasn’t, or even busy, he was doing a word search puzzle, but there was something about him that made Newt a little nervous. Then again, a lot of things made Newt nervous nowadays. Finally he walked up to the counter, smiling faintly when the man looked up and gave him a wide smile. “Oh, er, hello.” Newt peered at his name tag. “Shawn?”

“Yup, that’s me. Something I can help you with?”

“This is probably going to sound weird,” Newt said with a nervous laugh. “But, me, uh, me and my girlfriend are trying to find the mayor’s office? We’d like to talk to her, if possible? But we’re lost-”

“Mayor? Oh, you mean Magrat, yeah, she and Verence live up at the castle. If you take this street here up around the bend, you can’t miss it. But, er, you might not want to go there today,” Shawn confided.

“Why’s that?”

Shawn waved Newt closer, waiting until he was leaning on the counter to whisper, “Well, you see, I know for a fact there’s a coven of witches gathering up there today-”

“Shawn Ogg.” Shawn and Newt both jumped and turned towards the voice. It was a thin old woman, not particularly tall but holding herself so stiffly upright that she looked a foot taller than she was and Newt, for just a moment, could have sworn she was wearing a pointy black hat, and his brain said: _Crone_.

“Granny,” said Shawn with only a little bit of a squeak. “Do you need me to pump your petrol for you again?” He eagerly popped out from behind the counter, giving Newt an apologetic look and scurrying outside like his life depended on it.

When she turned to look at Newt, he gave her a faint smile and started edging towards the door. “Hello, er, ma’am, just, er, asking your grandson for directions. I’ll-”

“Not my grandson,” Granny sniffed, pinning him in place. “Don’t have any children.”

“Oh, er, I’m sorry. I’ll just-”

“Where do you need directions to?” Granny asked, and there might have been just the tiniest bit of a smile on her lips as Newt shifted from foot to foot like a child caught doing something naughty.

“To the coven- I mean, castle,” said Newt, closing his eyes for a brief moment at the slip up. “To see the mayor. Hoping we can talk to her today, we’ve come from a ways away you see.”

“We?” Granny asked, turning to look out the window to where Newt gestured. Anathema was standing beside the car, looking down at the note cards again. When she look up, she froze, and Granny nodded to herself and turned back to Newt. “Happens I’m going there myself. I’ll show you the way.”

“Oh, er, that’s very kind of you, uh?”

“Granny, Granny Weatherwax. And you are?”

“Oh, er, Newt, Newton Pulsifer, ma’am,” said Newt in defeat.

“Is that done then, Shawn?” she asked, pointedly ignoring Shawn’s hopefully outstretched hand after he reluctantly shuffled back inside.

He sighed and let his hand drop. “Yes Granny.”

She turned on her heel and left, popping her head back in and frowning at Newt when he just stood and stared after her. “Oh, right, uh, thanks for the directions, Shawn.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Shawn replied glumly.

Newt gave him a worried frown and scuttled out after Granny, catching up as she approached Anathema, who was staring at her with wide-eyed curiosity. “Introduce us,” Granny demanded.

“Oh, er, Anathema Device, this is, uh, Granny Weatherwax? She’s offered to show us the way to where the mayor is? In the castle?”

“She actually lives in a castle?” Anathema said in surprise, looking back down at the cards and back up at Granny. “It’s very kind of you to show us the way, ma’am,” she said politely, making herself not fidget under the older woman’s piercing stare. “As you can tell, we’re not from around here.”

“No,” said Granny, another little smile tugging up the corners of her mouth as she nodded just the slightest in approval. “From the States, are you?”

“I am, yes. Most recently anyway. Currently living in Jasmine Cottage, near Tadfield?”

“Ah.” Granny’s demeanor didn’t exactly change so much as shift from cool into something slightly warmer. “You’re Agnes Nutter’s girl.”

Anathema gave her a startled look and looked at Newt, who shook his head at her wordless question. “I, how, how did you know about Agnes?”

“There isn’t a witch hereabouts, and even a few wizards,” Granny admitted reluctantly, “that don’t know about Agnes Nutter. Saved a lot of lives, she did, doing what she did. Well, come along then, we’ll want to get there before the others get all the best bits. Having themselves bring lunch was the quickest smartest thing we’ve ever decided on.” She got into her very old and mercurial Fiat and after a moment leaned out the window and said, “Go get Shawn to give me a push will you? And give him something for the trouble.”

“I’ll do it,” murmured Anathema, patting Newt’s arm when he started stammering. She went inside, smiling at the man behind the counter, whose expression told her he clearly knew why she was there. “You’re needed for a push.”

“Of course. One o’these days that thing’s going to fall apart when I push it and I’ll have to buy her a whole new car,” he groused, coming out from around the counter. “I warned your boy about the coven meeting but if Granny says it’s alright, then there’s nothing for it.”

“Coven meeting,” Anathema echoed, pulling out her wallet and pressing a twenty pound note into his hand. “Thanks for the warning, and for the push.” She left Shawn prepping himself behind Granny’s car and folded herself into Newt’s car, breaking into quiet laughter. “I’ve never been anywhere that’s so open about their witches. They’re actually calling it a coven meeting, but I think we’re just going for lunch.”

“Oh, well,” said Newt, starting the car and pulling out after Granny’s ancient Fiat, which was somehow even slower than Dick Turpin. “Lunch sounds alright. But is there really a castle?”

“Who knows,” said Anathema, tucking the cards back into the box and putting it onto the back seat, next to the large box of pastries and the two bottles of non-alcoholic bubbling cider she’d bought before departing. If they were going to ‘sup,’ i.e, share a meal with these witches, it wouldn’t do to come empty handed. They followed Granny on the winding road, both of them almost gasping when the ‘castle’ came into view, staring out the windshield in amazement at the majestic wreck of a ruined keep perched precariously on its own little hill. “I guess there is a castle, kinda.”

“Of a sorts,” Newt agreed, wondering if Granny’s Fiat would actually make it up the incline to the base of the ruin. It was touch and go for a while but they made it, and they were both somewhat disappointed to realize it wasn’t nearly as tall as it seemed from down at the base of the hill. It was also a lot more ruin than they had expected. There were a few different cars parked in the lot, including the dull gray sedan that the schoolmarm had been filling up with petrol at the same time as they.

And parked well away from where crumbling masonry could ding the paint job, sat the Bentley, gleaming in the sun. “Oh, good, themselves are here. Hope they brought enough sushi to keep Gytha from eating all the dumpling this time,” Granny grumbled to herself, waving for Newt and Anathema to follow her down a little gravel, or possibly crumbled masonry, path that brought them to a much more modern (early 1700s) stone house nestled among the much older gardens.

Coming out the front door was was a tall stooped over thin man who looked like he was just beginning to recover from a very nerve-wracking decade. He stiffened when he spotted Granny marching up the path, almost whacking his head on the beam but just barely saving himself in time. “Oh, er, hello Miss Weatherwax.”

“Verence,” she said politely. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, holding the door open and waving for them to go in. “Everyone’s in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” She waved for Anathema and Newt to go in first. “You are welcome to stay,” she said to Verence lowly, clearly trying to be friendly but mostly coming off as intimidating.

He gave her a nervous smile and nodded. “Thank you, I know, everyone’s said. But Magrat deserves a break from me sometimes, and I get to sit in the pub and buy drinks for everyone.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that,” nodded Granny in dismissal, ducking through the doorway and sweeping past Anathema and Newt, through a cozy living room to the kitchen, which took up the entire back of the house. “Gytha, you leave those dumplings alone,” she scolded as she swept into the room.

Nanny gave her a guilty look and hastily ate the dumpling she’d been taking from the container. “Wha-”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Granny said, thumping herself down into the empty chair across from Nanny and waving for Anathema and Newt to join her at the table. “Everyone introduce yourselves.”

Everyone gathered around the table exchanged looks and finally Magrat stood up and came over to offer her hand to them. “I’m Magrat Garlick, I think you probably saw my husband Verence on his way out?”

“Oh, yes, er, sorry to intrude,” said Anathema, her eyes so wide she felt like she might never blink again. She’d never seen so many actual witches gathered in one place before, and seated among them were the two people who seemed human enough, even aura-wise, but clearly were something else entirely. She shifted the box of pastries to her other hand and said, “I’m Anathema Device, descendant of Agnes Nutter, and this is my boyfriend, Newt Pulsifer.” He waved his hand and smiled weakly, carefully holding the bottles as though they might shatter at the slightest touch.

“Anathema, Newt” said Magrat with a smile full of empathetic understanding. “Let me introduce you to everyone. You’ve met Granny, and there’s Nanny Ogg, and this is Agnes Nitt, and Perspicacia Tick. And, er-”

Aziraphale offered them both a polite smile. “I am Aziraphale, and this is Crowley. We’ve met but didn’t get properly introduced.”

“Odd how that happens when the world’s about to end,” smirked Crowley. They were still wearing their glasses, but finally pulled them off and set them down on the table next to their plate, giving Anathema and Newt a challenging look. “Didn’t expect to see you two again.”

“No,” Anathema, slipping her hand into Newt’s, for her own comfort or his, she couldn’t be sure. There was a vague memory of those bright yellow serpentine eyes, but she’d rather hoped it had been a hallucination. “But, er, Agnes, my ancestor Agnes,” she said with a faint smile at the other Agnes, “had a prediction that brought us here.” She turned back to Magrat and held out the box of pastries. “About the Queen of Lancre?”

Magrat blinked at that but shook her head, setting the box on the counter. “If it’s waited this long, it can wait until after we’ve eaten.” She smiled at Newt as he shyly offered her the bottles and her expression went a little odd as she read the labels, but she set them into the refrigerator and pulled out two more plates from the cupboard. “Plenty for everyone. I’ll grab a couple more chairs, oh thanks Perspicacia, here we are, forks or chopsticks? And would you like tea? We’ll, er, save the bubbly for later.”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” said Anathema, patting Newt’s hand as he mutely sat down beside her. “I, well, I hope this isn’t rude, but how do you all know each other? I’ve never seen so many witches in one place before.”

“Oh, Esme and I go way back, and our Agnes grew up not far from here,” said Nanny. “Perspicacia found us, as it were. We keeps in contact, our own little network.”

“How can you tell we’re witches?” Perspicacia asked, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

“I can see auras. Well, human auras,” she corrected. “People with magic are generally quite obvious, aura wise, unless they’ve learned to hide it,” she said, daring a look at Aziraphale and Crowley.

“That should probably be one of our next lessons,” said Aziraphale after savoring a bite of their food. “There are some of our kind that can read human auras. And of course there are humans who can read them too,” said Aziraphale with a nod at Anathema. “Sometimes it’s better to pass unnoticed.”

“Can you teach us to see auras,” asked Perspicacia hopefully. “It would make it so much easier...”

“It’s an inborn thing,” said Crowley. “But, er, the spell we were talking about, it calls out those with magic, don’t it?”

Aziraphale shook their head. “It does to an extent, once you’re within about ten feet of someone, unfortunately, it only identifies those with trained talent, not those ‘in the rough’ as it were. Otherwise we would have noticed Erica’s latent talents right away. And Warlock’s.” They took another bite of food and considered for a long moment. “I take it then that Esk’s seeing of their inherent power isn’t typical then?”

Perspicacia sniffed a little and looked at Nanny Ogg, who shrugged. “No. At least, I don’t have that ability, as useful as it would be. And I’m still not sold on this Arrangement of yours.”

Crowley smirked and Aziraphale nodded, both unoffended. “Understandable. We have just met after all. However, I think we could enable you to see that potential in another way.” They looked at Crowley, who had just finished eating and was lounged back in their chair, nursing their doctored tea as everyone else finished eating at a more sedate pace. “A blessed object perhaps?”

“A pair of glasses, maybe,” Crowley suggested, eyes dropping to Aziraphale’s pocket.

“She would look rather nifty in them,” Aziraphale agreed, pulling from their breast pocket a small pair of golden wire-rimmed spectacles. “Is there anything else you’d like to be able to see on those occasions?”

“Oh, er, I can’t think of anything else,” she admitted, clearly a little flustered.

Everyone watched as Aziraphale stared at the glasses for a moment before passing them to Crowley, who canted their head at Perspicacia and waved their hand over the glasses, adding their blessing and darkening the bright gold to a deep bronze color that would stand out less against her skin. “Give that a try.”

She cautiously accepted them and slipped them on, blinking widely as her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh! Even adults? Even you?”

“Everyone has the potential for growth and learning,” said Aziraphale with a touch of smugness. “It will be much brighter for those with less training of course. I wouldn’t wear them for long periods of time at first, likely to give you dreadful headaches.”

“Yes, yes, I can see why,” Perspicacia agreed, carefully folding up the glasses and slipping them reverently into her purse. “Thank you. I feel that I owe you-”

“Nah,” said Crowley, waving her words away. “We’ve got a soft spot for teachers.”

“Anything that will make it easier for you to help those in need is an endeavor worth pursuing.” Aziraphale turned to Granny and asked, “On a related note, Agnes says the rest of the components are ready?”

As other conversations picked back up around the table, Newt leaned towards Perspicacia and asked, “You’re a teacher? Who, uh, finds people with magic I take it?”

“Oh, yes, generally preteens and teenagers,” she said. “That’s typically before their magic or other abilities have actually manifested. I try to spend a year or two in a place before moving on, catch as many in the area as I can. It’s best to step in as soon as possible, nudge them gently towards a mentor or at least a book or two beforehand. A lot of them end up looking for information on the internet but there’s no way for them to suss out the gold from the dross which might only make things worse. It can be rather traumatic, if you don’t have anyone who can warn you or teach you; things moving on their own, prophetic dreams, odd mishaps that can’t be explained away, you know, and it will escalate as they continue to mature. So often the parents get the idea they’re haunted or possessed or-”

“Cursed?” asked Newt thoughtfully, turning to look at Anathema, who had heard everything and had a similarly thoughtful expression on her face. “But sometimes it stops on its own, right?”

Perspicacia was giving him a rather concerned look. “Yes, some believe they’re cursed, rather understandably of course, but it only stops because they’re strong enough t0 repress their powers, which is dangerous in and of itself. Instead of being expressed in a safe manner it’s bottled up, gaining pressure. They usually end up having rather unfortunate accidents..?”

Anathema and Newt were staring at one another, both on the verge of tears or laughter, probably both. “Do you think that’s what Agnes meant? Pulsifer’s bane being the birth of more witches?”

Anathema shook her head. “Well it says offspring’s dearth, which means scarcity or lacking, but maybe one of his descendants will be the one to break the curse? It’s hard to tell, because Agnes didn’t usually write in verse and there’s some consensus that that prediction wasn’t hers but someone else’s.” She looked away from Newt when she noticed Perspicacia surreptitiously whispering to Crowley, who in concert with Aziraphale quickly did something more to the glasses before passing them back to her. Perspicacia caught her staring and shrugged sheepishly, slipping the glasses back on and nodding in affirmation as she looked at Newt.

“But there’s something external...” she murmured. “It’s not just you suppressing your powers.”

“So there _is_ a curse,” said Anathema triumphantly. “Which means it can be removed.”

“Maybe.” Newt shrugged when Anathema sighed at him. “Are you going to eat that-”

“Yes,” she growled playfully, batting his fork away with her chop sticks and darting in to steal a chip from his plate, grinning when he pouted at her.

When everyone had eaten their fill, Anathema and Newt and Perspicacia helped clear the table while Agnes expertly loaded the dishwasher. “Singing in a band doesn’t always pay the best,” she admitted to Anathema. “I’ve had a lot of jobs over the years.”

“Even with two voices?” Anathema said, cringing a little when Agnes’ gaze went sharp. “Er, the other Agnes mentioned it in the prophecy, the ‘diva with two voices’ is how she referred to you.”

Agnes’ expression melted into a pleased smile. “I’d like to be a diva once in a while. Usually I’m stuck with backup or chorus or somewhere I can’t be seen.”

“Well, maybe it’s a sign it will happen soon,” Anathema said encouragingly. “I’ll be right back, going to get something from the car.”

Everyone was seated again at the table when she returned with the box of Agnes’ prophecies and she smiled gratefully when she saw Newt had set aside two of her favorite pastries for her. “I’ve learned my lesson about carrying the book around,” she told Aziraphale and Crowley, holding up the box. “It’s locked in a safe place and all of these have been scanned and uploaded to the cloud.”

“Probably the smartest course. However, if your book hadn’t been mislaid in Crowley’s car, Crowley and I never would have found the anti-christ in Tadfield,” said Aziraphale. “I may have not done much, but Crowley gave Adam time he needed to make his choice to repudiate Satan as his father.” Crowley shook their head and frowned at Aziraphale but didn’t interrupt. “And there is even a prophecy clearly meant for me in there, the first one I read. Number 3008?”

Anathema scowled and pulled open the box, quickly rifling through the cards until she found it, her eyes going wide. “Oh, but…” She let Newt take the card from her hand, swallowing hard and asking, “Angel?”

Aziraphale smiled faintly. “I was, yes.”

“Was?” squeaked Newt, shakily handing the card back to Anathema, trying very hard to not look at Crowley, whose grin was only growing in sharpness the more he didn’t look. “Er, uh, um, so… you’re..?”

“Sssay it,” hissed Crowley, leaning their elbows on the table and grinning with unholy glee.

Newt’s mouth worked but no sound could come out and Aziraphale took pity on him, although their smile was rather sharper than one would expect from one so recently an angel. Or perhaps not, if you were familiar with those types of angels. “No, Newt, I’m not a demon. Crowley is... not one either, anymore.” There was a faint whimper from Newt during that slightly drawn out pause. “We are no longer of heaven or hell. We choose to be on humanity’s side instead.”

“It’s us versus them now,” said Crowley, leaning back in their chair with a wry smile. “And it started when you asked them about the ineffable plan,” they said pointedly to Aziraphale. “You threw down the gauntlet and called their bluff! They’d have kept trying to wear him down if you hadn’t done that.”

Aziraphale twisted the oddly incongruous dark ring on their pinky. “And ended up alerting Satan-”

“They’d have told him anyway,” dismissed Crowley with a wave. “Always cover your arse and point the finger at whoever you can, main policy down there. Besides, he already knew I’d screwed up, why do you think he yanked my chain on his way topside?” Crowley shuddered a little at the memory. “Just a little reminder of what was coming.”

“Yanked your- oh, is that why you fell down like that? I didn’t realize your mark was, was,” Aziraphale said, unthinkingly reaching out towards where the mark had been on Crowley’s temple but hastily let their hand drop when they realized what they’d done. “Of course you were fettered as thoroughly as I was.”

Crowley shrugged, staring down into their tea, but there was no hiding their disquiet. “Over six thousand years since we last had the freedom to do as we wish, and we decide to pit ourselves against all of heaven and hell.” Crowley looked up and offered Aziraphale a faint smile. “The gravity finally got to us I think.”

Aziraphale smiled at the joke but said, “If we weren’t somehow a threat, they wouldn’t keep pursuing us. They _should_ have more important things to deal with, and yet...”

“I guess,” said Crowley. “I just don’t understand it. What’ve we got now that we didn’t have the first time they defeated us? If anything we’ve got less! We don’t even know what we were anymore.” Crowley shook their head and held out their cup to Nanny. “I think it’s just that they like holding grudges and we ruined their big Saturday night plans.”

“Told you, you was a dragon,” said Nanny, adding another splash to Crowley’s cup. “And other things too, but the dragon was the most mem’rable in my mind. And Azi had the sword an’ crown an’ scales but that was less interesting than the birdy-headed lion thing, eh, what’s that called?”

“Gryphon,” whispered Anathema, blinking a little to find everyone’s eyes suddenly on her. “It’s part of the prophecies that brought us here.” She dug out the other card. “ _Follow ye the dragon and the gryphon, flying west to Lankertonne in their chariot of night...”_

Aziraphale was staring into the distance but slowly nodded their head. “Gryphon. That makes a surprising amount of sense,” they admitted. “What does the rest of the prophecy say?”

Anathema read it out to them, looking around at their different expressions, noting Nanny’s wide knowing grin and Magrat’s crimson blush. “There is another one that’s tied to this one, the third one in the book. _Maiden Crone’s Mother’s curse, cast whilst upon her pyre, Must be unspoke and broken, if ye will have your heart’s desire. The bane of foul Adultery, thwarted by offspring’s dearth, Their casualties decided, when the angel is cast to earth._ ” She was unsurprised by Nanny’s even wider grin, and the sour expression on Granny’s face. What was a surprise was the worried look Crowley gave Aziraphale. “I think it’s talking about a curse on Newt’s family.”

“I seem to recall one o’your ancestors was tried, weren’t she, Esme?”

Granny pursed her lips and glared across the table but Nanny just kept on grinning. “You know full well she was, Gytha Ogg, who do you think you’re fooling?”

“Weren’t much information on why, were there,” said Nanny, uncowed. “Though it weren’t Adultery who killed her…”

“It was a wizard, wasn’t it.” Crowley nodded as it clicked into place. “That’s where the whole split started, wasn’t it? Weatherwax vs Pulsifer, or Polsilver I think he called himself?”

Granny nodded tersely. “We weren’t Weatherwax then either. He wanted eight sons but his wife couldn’t get pregnant again after the seventh so he accused the midwife and his wife of witchery and had them both hung. The midwife weren’t quite dead yet and she sat up on her pyre and cursed him and his sons and their sons and so on to never see their heart’s desire come to fruition, whatever it might be.”

“How do you know about him?” Nanny asked Crowley.

“He wanted a bargain,” Crowley said bitterly. “I thought it odd that they’d send me, usually one of the Dukes would go for that sort of thing, but off I went.” They gulped down the last of their tea. “Right into a trap. Turned out he already had a bargain; he’d get an endless stream of demons for him to drain of their power and in return he’d somehow usher in the end times.” They looked at Aziraphale. “He was supposed to get a blessing to make him resistant to demonic magic.”

“That’s what I was told was the purpose of my journey,” sighed Aziraphale. “That is the only time having to ride a horse proved a blessing in disguise. It ran off barely a day out of London and I ended up having to go on foot the rest of the way, making me quite a few days later than I should have been. Arrived just in time to see Polsilver and Crowley dueling.” Their eyes went a little distant at they remembered. “It was really a sight to behold. The sky was lit up for leagues around and there was magic flying everywhere and Crowley had long hair then, streaming in the wind like a banner, and their lovely eyes were aglow with ferocious power; they’re really rather magnificent in the heat of battle,” Aziraphale boasted to the witches, not noticing Crowley’s blush and incredulous stare. Or the smug look Nanny gave Granny, or her grudging shrug of acquiescence in return. “Well, I have to admit I got terribly caught up in the thrill of the moment and charged in willy-nilly, not a single spell prepared. He tried to evade us by running into his tower but cracked his head on the door frame and fell down, dead. Freak accident. Rather anticlimactic really.”

“You left out the bit about being in the form of a huge lion at the time,” Crowley said dryly once they recovered their voice. “And you’d just taken the brunt of a spell that would’ve been the end of me, or any other demon for that matter, and kept on running right for him, roaring the entire way. Any wonder he panicked and ran face first into a stone archway?”

“Yes, well, there were bandits, and boars, and bears-”

“Oh my,” said Agnes’ inner voice, making Nanny and Magrat both laugh.

“-and it was much safer and easier to travel as a lion,” Aziraphale admitted, giving Agnes a mildly chiding look and completely ignoring the second part of Crowley’s statement. “Did you ever get reprimanded for that? I know I didn’t.”

“‘Course not,” said Crowley with a sneer. “They just acted like me defeating him had been the plan all along.” Crowley turned to Anathema and asked, “That last bit, with the angel? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Anathema did her best to not show how unnerved she was by Crowley’s scowl, quickly looking down at the card to reference the notes there. “Oh, uh, well _casualty_ used to mean chance, or fortune. And as for the _angel_ , there’s some thought on that. One train of thought is that it’s a coin that was in circulation at the time, called an angel? It was often given to sick people-”

“Oh yes, people would wear them as amulets,” Aziraphale recalled. “The royals would give them out at special ceremonies. I, er, went and _helped_ a few times, I mean, they couldn’t really reprimand me for it.”

“Oh, yeah, _that_.” Crowley relaxed a little with relief, not noticing the concerned frown Anathema was wearing as she read the rest of the notes on the back of the card.

 _Only one other prophecy refers specifically to an angel, 3008, and ‘cast to earth’ might be a reference to them falling or being sent to hell? Maybe a piece of architecture that falls? Or an actual person named Angel hiding underground or dying?_ Anathema looked back up, startled to find Aziraphale watching her, giving her a tiny shake of their head when she started to say something more.

“So, er, the curse _can_ be removed?” Newt asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” said Granny. “Unspeaking is simple. But _breaking_ a curse this old, that will take some work.”

“Once per generation,” said Nanny, “and one more for luck. Any idea how many generations between you and Adultery?”

“I’m the eighth from Agnes,” spoke up Anathema.

“So, say another 4 to get to Polsilver,” said Nanny thoughtfully. “So, we’re going to need 13 ways to break a curse.”

They all started talking at once, leaving Newt just looking between them with growing concern.

“Running water’s always a good one. Bit cold this time of year but nothing for it.”

“Saltwater bath. Then he can warm back up again.”

“Spin and spit method is tried and true.”

“Smoke cleansing? Might need a lot of smoke.”

“Transference might be possible?”

“Only once though, but that’ll help. I take it you’re not religious,” said Nanny, shrugging when he shook his head. “So blessings won’t be of any use. Oh, the egg method, haven’t done that in ages.”

“Candle-lit vigil?”

“Might do,” said Granny. “Have to be a big candle, last all night.” She eyed Newt critically and said, “Might have to do a quest or two. Finding items with significance that then become talismans.”

“Oh, uh, like what?”

“Hagstones. They’re rocks with a hole naturally worn through them. And four leaf clovers of course,” answered Perspicacia.

There was a lull as they ran out of ideas and they shifted over to talking about lucky charms possibly working to break the remaining layers of the curse. “Well, the older the items are, the more luck they will infer. Are there any such objects passed down in your family?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, er, no, not really. Oh, my dad told me about a really old necklace he was going to inherit, but I think it went to his fourth wife when he died. I, er, don’t think she’d let me borrow it.”

“Well, I’ve got a good luck charm that’s plenty old that I’m willing to let ye borrow,” said Nanny Ogg, and the whole table preemptively cringed as she reached into her bag, only to sigh with relief as she clanged a massive horseshoe down onto the table. “That’s my anti-theft lucky horseshoe. You’ll have to keep it with you any time you leave the house though, for thirteen days.”

“Er, uh, thank you?” said Newt, reluctantly accepting the rusty old horseshoe and putting it in his coat.

“Ooh, I’ve got an evil eye amulet I got from Goody Whemper.” Magrat picked through the necklaces tangled around her neck and pulled out a bright blue glass ‘eye’ on a piece of red silk ribbon. “Very good luck, came all the way from Turkey. I’ll expect it back when the thirteen days are up,” she admonished, passing it around to Newt.

He slipped the ribbon over his head and gave her a sheepish but grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Perspicacia unclasped a silver necklace from around her neck and held it out, showing off the silver horn charm hanging from it. “Italian good luck charm, been in the family for generations. Thirteen days.”

“Oh, er-” He leaned down to let Anathema clasp the chain around his neck, carefully tucking the charm under his shirt. “Thank you.”

Agnes was unclasping a necklace that had an enamel nightingale charm dangling on it. “This was my grandmother’s,” she said. “Very good luck. Thirteen days.”

Newt hesitantly accepted it, looking very worried. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, putting his hand over the three necklaces. “You don’t even know me.”

“What’s that go to do with anything?” Granny asked. She put her hand into her pocket and carefully set a small, very old bronze figure onto the table. “I had a feeling I’d be needing this today- and not a word from you Gytha Ogg!”

“I weren’t going to say a thing, Esme, not a blessed thing,” beamed Nanny innocently, as everyone else stared at the little figure in utter fascination.

“My,” said Aziraphale, breaking the pregnant pause. “I haven’t seen one of those in a very long time indeed. Not since Roman times. That one was a favorite of soldiers if I remember correctly, makes sense you’d find it hereabouts. It’s in excellent condition.”

“Been in the family a long time,” said Granny stiffly, glaring at the radiantly innocent Nanny Ogg who looked as though she would burst at any moment. “Very strong magic against curses, that is.”

Anathema, lips pressed tightly together lest her laughter escape, picked up the gleefully erect little figure and pressed it into Newt’s unresisting hand. “Thank you,” he choked out, quickly stuffing it into his pocket, face bright red as he looked anywhere but at anyone, wondering if a person could die of sheer embarrassment. “I’ll return it as soon as possible.”

“See that you do. Family heirloom.”

“Well!” Nanny said, startling everyone as she bounced to her feet. “Let’s get started on the rest! Up you get, Newton Pulsifer, you’ve got a stream to go wading through. Magrat, get a bath going, we won’t be long. C’mon Esme, you can start the unsaying while we drive down. You too Anathema, only right.”

Granny let out a disgruntled noise but got up, shooing Newt and Anathema out in front of her. “He should go looking for clovers and hagstones while there’s good light,” she insisted.

“Good point! Hold off on the bath, Magrat!”

After the front door closed there was a moment of waiting until they heard Nanny’s old minivan grumble to life. And when it was fading into the distance the dam burst all at once, until there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. “Of all people.” said Aziraphale, “Of all people!”

“Did you know she had that?” Agnes demanded of Magrat, who had her head in her arms and was just sobbing with mirth.

“No!” Magrat wailed, pushing back her wild mane of frizz and staring at Agnes in horrified amusement. “Can you imagine, if she’d had that out on the mantle or something?”

“I mean, _Nanny_ -” said Crowley, and everyone nodded, “but _Granny_?”

“I suppose still waters do run deep,” said Perspicacia.

“And long,” piped up Agnes’ inner voice, and she blushed beet red and slapped a hand over her mouth, setting off another round of laughter.

“Do you think he’ll believe in them enough for it to work?” Perspicacia asked when they’d settled into mere tremors of fading giggles.

“Hard telling,” said Magrat, getting up to make more tea, blowing her reddened nose on a tissue. “Might be he only believes because we all believe. Might be he hasn’t had much kindness in his life up to now.”

“He’s certainly got a lot in common with us then,” said Agnes with just her own voice, shrugging when they turned to look at her. “We aren’t always kind to ourselves either.”

Perspicacia and Magrat both nodded in agreement, as did Aziraphale and Crowley. “I think Anathema has also had a very hard time,” said Aziraphale. “Told that the fate of the whole world is on her shoulders since she was a child? It will take time for her to adjust.”

“If she can adjust.” Crowley shrugged at Aziraphale’s frown. “It’s been her whole life up until this point. It’s her whole identity, being Agnes’ golden child. You know what it’s like to lose your purpose,” Crowley said gently. “Newt and those last few unsolved predictions might be all she has right now.”

“You’re probably right,” agreed Magrat. “So, how do we help?”

“Show her that there’s opportunities to put her skills to good use,” said Aziraphale, looking thoughtfully at Perspicacia. “Miss Tick, you were telling us that you were between positions at the moment, weren’t you?”

“I am, actually,” she said, nodding thoughtfully in agreement. “And with all that happened in Tadfield, there might be more than a few children in need of mentors there.”

“Probably,” Crowley agreed, shifting restlessly in their chair.

“You know,” said Magrat to Aziraphale and Crowley, not trying at all to be coy, “we have a very lovely and secluded garden here. If you two, would, you know. Want to enjoy the sunshine with us and such?”

Aziraphale beamed at her and turned to look at Crowley, who grinned and slid their glasses back on. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Perspicacia gave Agnes a curious look and frowned when she got a secretive grin in response, but followed them all outside and onto the winding path that led into the walled garden at the back of the house. The gardens weren’t quite as lush as Granny’s, but they had a wildness to them that made them feel almost as ancient as the crumbling keep. Perspicacia was lagging behind the others, mentally cataloging the different plants when she rounded the bend and lost her breath to see them with their wings unfurled and shining in the sunlight. “Oh.”

“Amazing, right?” murmured Agnes from beside her. “Did you talk to Granny and Nanny?”

“A little,” Perspicacia said, blinking and having to look away when her eyes began to water. “They mentioned a vision?”

“Uh huh. When we drank the blessed scumble.” She was watching themselves sidelong, smiling faintly as the shy looks they kept sending one another. “They tell you what they saw?”

“Granny saw a Winged Snake and a Winged Lion. Nanny saw a Gryphon and a Dragon.”

“I saw a two queens, one light, one dark,” said Magrat, shrugging at their surprised looks. “I think it’s because Verence has been teaching me chess.” She turned to look curiously at Agnes. “What did you see?”

Agnes waved a hand as the two ancient corporeal celestial beings, ever so shyly, clasped their hands together. “That.” She looked at Perspicacia and Magrat. “I saw other stuff too, don’t get me wrong, but mostly what I noticed was them reaching for each other.”

“Granny says dark has a thing for light,” said Magrat tactfully. “Nanny says it’s the other way around. You’re saying?”

“Both,” grinned Agnes. “Very much both.”

“But...” All three of them looked at the two of them stiffly holding hands, oh so carefully not letting their wings touch, not even looking at one another. But holding on none the less. “Oh.”

“They’ve got a lot of baggage to work through,” said Magrat, smiling a little ruefully to think of the disaster that had been her and Verence’s courtship. “They’ll get to it in their own time. But maybe let’s not let Nanny and Granny know, hmm?” Agnes and Perspicacia both nodded when she gave them a surprisingly steely-eyed stare, which faded into a relieved smile. “Well, now that that’s settled, is there anything more you’d like us to answer for you, Perspicacia?”

Perspicacia kept finding herself staring at the two winged figures, somehow both so otherworldly and yet so very human in that moment, and smiled a little. “No, I think I have all the answers I need.”

**∞**

Newt was shivering miserably inside the horsey woolen blanket they’d borrowed from the blacksmith after transferring a layer of the curse into the anvil. When they arrived back at the castle he climbed back out of Nanny’s van, cringing when the borrowed horseshoe smacked into the sore spot on his hip where he’d fallen while wading across the stream. He was pretty sure Granny’s little bronze good luck charm had stabbed him. But falling had let him find a hagstone so perhaps it was a net increase. Or would it be decrease?

He wasn’t really thinking about where they were going until he heard Anathema gasp and he looked up from the path and gasped as well. “They really are angels,” he whispered in shock.

“Were, anyway,” agreed Granny, something softening just the slightest in her expression when she noticed they were holding hands. “They’re ours now. We know good ‘uns when we finds ‘em.” She gave Newt and Anathema a pointed look and walked on into the garden.

“What she’s saying,” said Nanny in a surprisingly quiet voice, “is we’d like you to be part of our little group too. Can’t have too many friends. Always possible to have too few, but never too many. We’ve learned that the hard way.” She sighed. “How lonely does a soul have to be, to turn to an adversary for friendship?”

Anathema gave her a startled look, but didn’t say anything when she realized Nanny wasn’t looking at Aziraphale and Crowley, but instead at Granny, who was lecturing Magrat about letting weeds take over a patch while Magrat patiently tried to explain that the weeds were the flowers she was trying to grow.

“Well then.” Nanny cleared her throat and gave them a big grin and waved for them to go into the garden. “Let’s see if themselves are feeling generous, hmm?”

It only took one look at him for Crowley to hiss in sympathy and to snap Newt’s clothes dry. Aziraphale tutted and asked, “My poor boy, can I cast a healing on you?” Newt gave a startled nod in the affirmative and their magic washed over him, healing the bruise and warming him nicely. “There, that’s better now, isn’t it? You know, I do think it’s started working already,” they said, looking towards Perspicacia for confirmation.

“Oh, er.” She pulled out the glasses and put them on, surprised to find that Aziraphale was actually right. “Yes, it is visibly lessened. More than I expected it to be,” she admitted.

“Might I have a look?” asked Anathema. When she _looked_ at Newt, all she saw was his usual aura, which to her hadn’t changed at all. And didn’t have any sign of magic that she could see either.

“Certainly.”

Anathema set the spectacles onto her nose and had a moment of disorientation as her brain adjusted to the additional information it was suddenly receiving. The colors were far more intense and there was an aura to the aura that she had never seen before, glowing around all of them to some degree, but around Newt it was like seeing him through old wavy glass, distorted and dulled in a worrisome way. And it was definitely less distorted around the good luck charms. “Oh.”

“What does it look like?” Newt asked.

“Uh, kinda like you’re in an old bell jar. Or one of those glass fishing buoy things?” She carefully pulled off the spectacles and passed them back to Perspicacia. “Thank you. I can’t see anything different when I look.”

“But it is better?” Newt asked anxiously.

“It is,” Anathema reassured him, taking his hand in both of her own. “And you said that you could feel a difference after the unsaying,” she reminded him.

“Oh, yes, that’s true.” He looked around, relieved to see Granny still grumbling at Magrat, who didn’t actually seem to mind. When she saw him looking she gave him a wink and waved to a different plot of plants, setting Granny off on another tangent, walking her away from Newt. “If only because it was slightly terrifying,” he admitted, “and then it was over.”

Agnes snorted but nodded. “I bet. Granny has a pretty terrifying streak to her. We’re lucky she’s on our side.” She slid a sidelong look at Nanny, who was puffing serenely on her pipe, pretending to not listen in on their conversation. “Nanny does too, she just hides it better.”

“And don’t ye forget it,” Nanny said, blowing out a trio of smoke rings, one through the other through the previous two. She gave a sharp look at Anathema. “So what are you thinking? Going to listen to your Agnes? Or need to think it over some more?”

Anathema found herself looking at Aziraphale, who gave her a smile that was full of warmth and understanding, and at Crowley, who smirked, but in a way that seemed to be inviting her in on the joke. “I, well, I’ve spent my whole life listening to Agnes.” She gave a rueful smile to Newt, who smiled back. “I’m learning to listen to myself now, and I think I see where Agnes was coming from. There a lot more going on that I never knew about. I think having a few more friends might be a very good idea.” She turned to Newt as asked, “But what do you think?”

“Um, I, uh, I think I’d like to hear what exactly you’re going to want from us,” he said with a slight cringe, looking towards Aziraphale and Crowley.

“We don’t expect you to put yourself in danger, if that’s what you’re thinking,” soothed Aziraphale. “We wouldn’t ask that of anyone who is unwilling. We’d rather not even ask it of those who are willing.” They twisted their hands together, smiling faintly down at Crowley’s ring and sighed a little. “This shouldn’t have to be humanity’s fight, but our old sides certainly want it to be. If we can stop them...”

“You scratch our backs, we scratch yoursss,” said Crowley. “You do a couple good deeds in our names, doesn’t have to be big, just, er, picking up some litter, whatever, that gives us a bit more power to do a few more blessings, thwart the powers that be when they mess with our people.” Crowley sniffed, stuffing their hands into their pockets, twining Aziraphale’s tartan handkerchief through their fingers. “Maybe sabotage their efforts a bit when we get the chance. At least, that’s the hope. Early days yet. If nothing else, keep each other safe while we sort it all out.”

“Yes, safe,” agreed Aziraphale. “Neither side likes magic users, with good reason. You’re resistant to their powers for one. And two, you don’t fear them the way average people do. Even people who don’t necessarily believe will have an instinctive reaction to seeing them reveal themselves as being not human. And that fear is almost as good as belief.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t know about that,” said Newt, pulling the blanket back around his shoulders at the sudden chill he’d gotten. “I’m afraid of just about everything.”

“You don’t have to stop being afraid,” Anathema said, giving him a gentle smile. “You just have to be willing to try anyway. That what you did at the airbase with me, right? This isn’t really any different.”

“Well, when you put it that way… It’s, you’ll protect us, right? However you can?”

“However we can, yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “And we can teach you magic, when you’re free of the curse.”

The worry on Newt’s face faded and a faintly hopeful smile lit up. “Really?”

“Yup. But we’re going to have to figure out a way to teach everyone more than one spell a week,” frowned Crowley. “I know you don’t rush anything angel, but they need a crash course. At least defensive things if nothing else.”

Aziraphale sighed but nodded. “I fear you are right. Of course, Miss Tick is a teacher. Perhaps she would be willing to help us teach the others some defensive spells?”

Perspicacia did her best to pretend there wasn’t a flush staining her cheeks as she nodded. “I, I’d be glad to help, but I’m afraid I don’t know much ritual magic,” she admitted.

“How are you with book learning?” Aziraphale asked, miracling up a slim volume and holding it out to her. “This is a primer of my own devising but I could use some assistance with editing it, for clarity and such.”

Perspicacia accepted the little leatherbound book as though it was made of spun sugar. “But, but I, we, I haven’t agreed-”

“Miss Tick, you’re _here_ , as an equal among our equals,” said Aziraphale. “That is all the evidence I need of your trustworthiness. Crowley might feel differently-”

“Nah. I know a good teacher when I meet one.”

“There you have it. We would like you to join the Arrangement, when you’re ready. Until then, I would greatly appreciate your assistance with polishing this into something that other magic users will find useful.”

She was skimming the first few pages, enthralled by Aziraphale’s pristine copperplate writing. “I can do that. But,” she looked up, looking around for Granny, leaning close when she saw she was still occupied with Magrat. “You’ll want to have a wizard look at it too. If it’s going to be _universal_.”

“I have a few who might do, after you’ve made your first pass,” Aziraphale said.

Perspicacia closed the book and clasped it to her chest. “Yes. I mean, I’d like to join.”

Anathema nodded when they looked at her, and Newt nodded as well.

“Did you explain?” Crowley asked Nanny, who nodded. “So, drunk now or later?”

“Now,” said Newt, shrugging when they all turned to look at him. “I’ve had a pretty exciting day and being drunk sounds really nice around now.”

“Well, there’s plenty of room at my house for you to spend the night,” Nanny said. “We’ll have more curse breaking to do in the morning!”

Newt sighed and held out his hand towards them. “Drink please.”

Crowley cawed out a laugh and summoned up two little cups brimming with blessed scumble, one for him and one for Anathema, and Aziraphale did the third for Perspicacia. As they drank Nanny pulled over a terracotta pot and pulled the plant out of it, setting the pot down between the tree of them. They tossed the cups into the pot and Nanny tapped out her pipe, grinning as they all went blank faced for a moment as the fire roared up and then staggered back. “It’s got a kick, don’t it?” she cackled, dropping the plant back over the smoldering remains of the cups, rearing back a little herself when the plant, a rather sad looking fern, suddenly unfurled new leaves with golden-bronze veins and a sheen of shimmering iridescence.

They all turned to look at their wings and back at the plant, and Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile and said, “I wonder what your holy water will do.”

“Huh.” Crowley shook their head and laughed a little. “Me too.”

There was a sudden crack and they all turned to look at Granny, who had dropped the rock she had been showing Magrat how to stack into a dry border, and was just standing there staring at Magrat. Magrat was twisting her hands together, face pale with worry that shifted into shock as Granny enfolded her in a stiff hug and Magrat burst into tears and laughter and hugged Granny back in relief.

“Oh thank goodness,” said Nanny, wiping hastily at her suspiciously damp eyes, turning away to feign fascination with the plant when Granny turned around to look at her accusingly. “Would you look at this, Esme, went all funny from me scumble.”

“You’re not go- what in the world?” Granny stared down at the plant but then shook her head, piercing the radiantly innocent Nanny with a stern glare. “You knew didn’t you?”

“A’course I knew, how many children have I had and how many more have I helped into the world?” Nanny retorted.

“Well, I can’t help it if you’ve lost count of your brood,” said Granny. “Were you going to tell me?”

“No. Weren’t my place to tell you, and yes this time I kept my place,” she finished in a rush before Granny could snappily reply. “She wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, she did. Could’ve broken my foot, dropping the rock like that,” said Granny, but there was just the tiniest of smiles trying to creep into her voice, no matter how much gruff she put on. “She says there’s cake, and bubbly for all of us, though these three might want to stick to the boring kind,” she said, giving the gently weaving trio a dismissive nod. “And I get first piece,” she said, letting out a laugh as she sailed into the house.

“Told you naming the baby after her would give her a big head,” Nanny groused to Magrat.

“There’s already six Gytha’s in the village, not counting you,” Granny called back. “Someone get in here and open this bottle!”

Aziraphale caught Crowley’s hand, keeping them from following the others inside, furling their wings away but waiting until they were alone to say, “Maybe we should go.”

Crowley furled their wings back into the ether and canted their head, giving Aziraphale’s hand a gentle squeeze in understanding. “We can, if you like.”

“I… I don’t know.” Aziraphale sniffled, smiling a little to hear the cork pop and a cheer go up. “Another attachment. Not really the done thing,” they said as a sad attempt at a joke.

“Because it hurts when they go,” murmured Crowley. “And they always go to soon.”

Aziraphale nodded, sighing heavily. “And there so much… so much we can’t protect them from.”

“I know.” Crowley leaned close to whisper, “But they want us here. And we can do that much.”

Aziraphale turned towards Crowley, eyes dark with unshed tears, and smiled. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Anytime, angel.” With a gentle tug Crowley led Aziraphale back inside where the others were waiting.

They were given glasses and Granny lifted hers in a toast. “To new beginnings!”

“To new beginnings!”


	27. Stormy Weather

When the cake was gone and the last round of bubbly poured out into glasses, Crowley went looking for Aziraphale when they sensed their friend stepping to the very edge of the range of their auras. Crowley found them in the garden, watching the sunset. “Hey, angel.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale favored them with a smile. “Just needed a breath of fresh air. Smells like rain.”

Crowley nodded and waved a hand at the horizon where just the faintest haze of clouds was beginning to gather. “Going to storm tonight.”

“Then I’m doubly glad they won’t be out driving in it. I suppose we should be going soon, so we’re not driving in it either.” Aziraphale let out a little sigh, looking over their shoulder at the warmth radiating from inside the house and smiled. “I wanted to tell you earlier, it was very nice of you, trading with Agnes.”

“I don’t do _nice,_ angel,” said Crowley with a little sneer, refusing to let the word get to them. “She wanted what I had, I wanted what she had. Even trade.” They looked down at the coat and smiled again. “I wanted a change. And it’s really warm. And it’s got real pockets!”

“It was sweet of you, then.” Aziraphale huffed when Crowley made a face. “Why do you dislike nice so much?”

They were quiet so long Aziraphale was beginning to think they wouldn’t answer when Crowley said, “Because it’s a lie.”

“A lie?”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, part of them not wanting to explain, knowing it was only going to stir things up again. But Aziraphale deserved an answer. “It's a con game, a scam, a lever to make people do what you want them to do. A cudgel to beat the powerless into submission when they dare to speak up. An excuse to do awful things to others _for their own good_ and no one says boo about it, because they're just being _nice_ ’."

Aziraphale stared at them, nodding when Crowley seared them with a glare. “I... yes, I understand.”

Crowley shrugged, relieved at their non-reaction. “Just hits a nerve.”

“I, er, I do hope you know I never thought your kindnesses were that sort of niceness, Crowley.”

They shrugged and nodded. “Yeah. I know now, angel. But look at Karen.” Crowley smirked at their put-upon sigh. “But she’s just being _nice_! Trying to protect you from being taken advantage of by that nasssty lady friend of yours. And you couldn’t tell her to bugger off because you had to be nice back. Right?”

“Yes. But it’s for a good cause.”

“Eh, I suppose,” Crowley said. “Got to be a better way to get what you want. What do you want to bet she’s lurking around the bookstore, waiting for you?” they teased, making Aziraphale roll their eyes.

“That would be a sucker’s bet, because I am positive that you are correct.” Aziraphale gave them a smile and said, “I’m glad you convinced me to stay.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Crowley slid a look at the house and admitted, “Almost didn’t. I’m not used to it.” They waved a hand towards the house and the people inside. “People _liking_ me. Wanting me around.”

Aziraphale’s heart broke for them, hearing that. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think... should’ve known.”

Crowley shrugged. They darted a look at Aziraphale and smiled sheepishly. “I, er, I thought it was just you.” At Aziraphale’s confused expression Crowley tried to explain. “The sense of being _liked._ I thought that was just your, uh, you-ness. You radiate it all the time,” Crowley said, looking back at the brilliant sunset and not seeing the slightly worried blush creeping across Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Didn’t even realize I was sensing something until Karen showed up and it vanished. Part of why I hid, it wasn’t even a thought, just a knee-jerk reaction of, ‘Ooh, if the angel doesn’t like someone, it’s got to be really bad.’”

Aziraphale laughed at that. “Yes, well, your instincts were on the money with that one.”

“Right? But then Agnes showed up and I realized I could feel some from her too, and other things, just little flashes, like her liking my jacket. Then we got here and they all… Even Granny, I mean, _Granny_.” They smiled when Aziraphale chuckled again. “Is, is that what you, uh, sensed? Around Tadfield?”

“Oh no, I can’t sense what others are feeling unless I’m touching them. Even then it’s quite hard to be precise. Emotions are rather complicated after all. Easy to misinterpret.” Aziraphale cleared their throat. “No, what I felt in Tadfield was more akin to a memory, written in the energy of a place. Just the biggest boldest strokes of very strong emotion, lingering where they were felt.”

Crowley gave them a startled look. “Wot, there’s just leftover feelings floating around? And you just get smacked with them out of the blue?”

“That’s one way of putting it, yes, but I usually keep myself shielded, much like we taught them earlier, so I don’t get, ‘smacked out of the blue,’ as you put it. Thankfully most residual feelings fade quickly. But I was actively seeking the anti-christ’s influence that day and the strength of the feeling took me by surprise. Most of it was Adam, of course.” Aziraphale hummed to themself as they considered. “And the nuns, at the hospital. They really loved it there. The one you hypnotized, she still loves it.”

“Huh,” said Crowley. “So you can’t read people’s minds, unless you’re touching them?” Crowley asked offhandedly, feeling a sense of relief when Aziraphale shook their head.

“I can’t read anyone’s mind, corporeal or non-corporeal. I don’t think anyone can, not the way you mean, like it’s a book. Even with our bond I can only hear your thoughts if you choose to share them with me. And you know if I’m, er, listening? Receptive?”

“Yeah. But, what I remember of before...”

“Ah, but when we’re non-corporeal there’s no way to communicate that isn’t just projecting everything out towards whomever. Yelling through a megaphone. There’s a million little things that have to happen for a thought to form in a brain and be articulated into words or actions.” Aziraphale fidgeted with the ring and asked, “This _liking_ that you felt… Can you describe it? I’m rather curious about it. I don’t recall you mentioning being able to sense that sort of thing before?”

“That’s just it, I don’t remember it either,” Crowley admitted. “But, you just give off this feeling of acceptance and warmth. I didn’t even realize it was there ‘til it was gone.”

Aziraphale considered that for a moment. “And did you get anything from Karen?”

“Oh yesss.” Crowley chuckled lowly and grinned when Aziraphale blushed. “The minute she walked in, I knew she wanted something from you. Didn’t take long to figure out what.”

Aziraphale waved that away, asking, “Any one else?”

“Everyone else. Little things. Rose broke something, still feels guilty about it?”

“Ah, an old mug of mine, knocked off the desk by accident. She bought me the angel wing one to replace it,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Louise knows you’re an angel and, er, I think she knows what I was too.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale gazed at Crowley with wide eyes. “ _Secrets._ Keeper of Secrets and Storms.”

Crowley’s smile vanished. “You being accepting and generous isn’t a secret,” they scoffed.

“Towards you?” Aziraphale said quietly. “Of course it was. From you, especially.”

Crowley went still. _Wait, does, that means there’s something they haven’t told me? About how they feel about me?_ They looked at Aziraphale, who was staring at the darkening sky, and desperately wanted to ask and was terrified of asking. _No, nope, leave that alone, it’s been a week, moving on now._ “Huh. Well, not very useful so far.”

Relieved by Crowley’s response, Aziraphale said, “Perhaps they’re still interfering in some way.”

“Could be.” They stood like that for a while, watching the sun set and the storm growing on the horizon. Finally Crowley nudged Aziraphale’s elbow with their own. “Let’s go.”

Inside they both immediately noticed Anathema curled up alone in a chair by a window, looking sad and lost. A quick look at Magrat had her making a beeline for her while Crowley told the others, “We need to go, there’s a storm rolling in.”

Perspicacia, who’d told them to call her Cacia when they’d gone inside to celebrate, was discussing Aziraphale’s book with Agnes and seemed barely tipsy until she beamed at them and said, “Byeee! Love you!” and slapped a hand over her mouth when she realized what she’d done.

Granny almost snorted champagne out her nose upon hearing that and Nanny cackled and gave them big hugs and smacking kisses and told them, “Byeee! Love you!”

On the other side of the room, Magrat pulled over a chair and sat beside Anathema. “I can’t be having a guest sitting under a raincloud, love. So, tell me what’s going on?”

Anathema rubbed at her eyes, trying to hold off the tears that wanted to fall. Seeing Magrat’s kind smile was making it hard for her to keep them at bay. “I jus’… I dunno what I’m going to do when I run out of prophecies,” she admitted. “There were more, there was a whole other manuscript and I, I burned them.” Tears did fall when Magrat gasped in shock.

Magrat bit back her knee-jerk response of dismay and rested her hand over Anathema’s. “I’m sure you did what you thought was best.”

“No,” wailed Anathema soggily, getting everyone’s attention. “I didn’t. I didn’t even read them! But she told me not to, told me to burn them, and like a good little descendant, I did.” She dragged her sleeve over her watering eyes, accepting a handkerchief from Aziraphale when they offered it. “Newt even asked me if I was sure,” she smiled at him, accepting his hand when he offered it. “But I’ve lived my whole life doing what Agnes told me, so I did as told.”

“And now she’s set you free,” said Nanny. “Weren’t right, for her to keep you on her apron strings for any longer than you needed to be.” Nanny reached into her pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper, singed black around the edges and offered it to Anathema, who stared in confusion but took it.

 _Time and past for the fledglings to leave the nest. Ye hast found kindred spirits, Anathema, and they will guard and guide ye as ye find thine own way. Byeee! Love ye!_ Anathema chuckled damply and read it aloud, smiling at Cacia when she blushed again, looking at the people gathered concernedly around her, more tears welling up when they all nodded in agreement. “Thank you, everyone.”

Magrat stood up to give Aziraphale and Crowley hugs farewell. “Bye loves, see you Sunday. And next Wednesday? We’ll be at Nanny’s.”

“We’ll be there,” Crowley promised, still feeling a little jolt of surprise every time someone made a friendly overture towards them. “Both times.”

“And we’ll bring more dumplings,” Aziraphale said, with a playful look towards Granny.

“See that you do, old lion,” she said, lifting her glass to them in a toast, a glint of mischief in her eye. “Byeee! Love you!”

Cacia hid her face behind Aziraphale’s book, knowing she would never ever live it down if even _Granny_ was going to say it.

Aziraphale paused in the doorway and looked at Crowley, who grinned knowingly and when Aziraphale beamed at everyone, they both said, “Byeee! Love you!”

Cacia was laughing but also still hiding her face as they left. When Magrat waved for her to sit with Anathema and Newt she returned their sympathetic smiles with an embarrassed one of her own. “I don’t get drunk very often,” she admitted.

“No,” said Anathema, waving her hand to take in her still teary eyes. “This is usually what happens.”

“Me neither,” Newt agreed. “Heard too many horror stories about the curse getting a relative because they were drunk. But, er, now that I know there really was a curse..?”

Cacia nodded at his hopeful look. “Oh, most likely it was because being drunk lowers your inhibitions and they had less control over their repressed magic. Will you tell me about it?”

**∞**

Agnes followed them out to the Bentley to get her things from the back seat. “Cacia offered me a ride in the morning, when she’s sober again. Those three are going to feel like they’ve been mostly dead all day when morning comes,” she said with sympathy. “No miracle hangover cure for them.”

“Make sure they drink lots of water,” said Aziraphale, distractedly wondering why that phrase seemed vaguely familiar. “That will help. And some food. And a good night’s rest.”

“Can’t pre-cure a hangover with magic,” Crowley replied. “They’ll just have to suffer through.”

“I’ll tell them,” Agnes promised. “Anyway, Magrat is probably as close to a real Miracle Max as I’ve ever seen. If there’s anything else that’ll help a hangover, she’ll know it.”

“Going to camp out at Nanny’s with them?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah, I want to talk to them more. About being a finder too. There’s a lot of kids in the city, and not many witches. And the wizards, well,” she sniffed a little. “The old farts in charge need a swift kick and no mistake. They still grumble about having to allow girls and non-binary people to attend. And they don’t really interact with younger folk.”

“Well, if they want an Arrangement with us, they’d best not grumble in our hearing,” said Aziraphale with a touch of steel in their voice, pulling open the door so she could get her things. “See you at Biers on Sunday?”

“I’ll be there,” she promised, grumbling when her phone slipped out of the pocket and slid under the seat. “Blast it.”

“I still don’t think that was a very fair trade,” said Aziraphale playfully.

Agnes and Crowley exchanged a look. “Jealousss,” hissed Crowley.

“Terribly,” Agnes agreed, hugging Crowley’s former jacket close again and giving them a big grin. “So fashionable. Envy of everyone who sees it.”

Crowley laughed and snuggled into Agnes’ former coat. “Ssso warm. Envy of everyone who sees it.” They leveled an arch look at Aziraphale who was shaking their head and smiling at them both. “Maybe she’ll deign to make you something in,” a feigned shudder, “ _tartan_ , if you ask politely.”

“Agnes dear, did you know that Crowley happens to look lovely in tartan? I can show you if you like,” said Aziraphale with that glint in their eyes that had Crowley grabbing their hands with a laugh.

“No, angel, I’ll discorporate out of spite, I swear,” Crowley said, scowling when Agnes righted herself, phone in hand, and grinned. “Don’t encourage them, it was terrible!”

“Clearly,” she said. “I’ll be by tomorrow some time to get my scooter.”

“Don’t know when we’ll be back from the university but the door will open for you so you can warm up,” said Aziraphale, offering her a hug. “There’s a blanket on the couch and the tea supplies are in the back.”

“Thank you Aziraphale.” She smiled at their teasing and hugged them back, giving Crowley a hug as well. “I won’t play little matchstick girl on your stoop, I promise.”

They both waved as they pulled away, and they rode for a while with non-Queen music playing softly before Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Uh?” Crowley looked at them in confusion. “What?”

“For implying that your trade with Agnes was something other than what it was.”

“Alright.” Crowley knew there was more to it than just that, knew when their friend was working up to a bigger issue. “I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

Aziraphale let out a heavy breath. “I must also apologize for using _nice_ as an excuse to make you do all the hard, distasteful things.” They nodded when Crowley’s silence dragged on. “I realize that my poor behavior has understandably influenced your distaste for the term.”

Crowley shrugged but nodded. “Yeah. Pissed me off.”

“Yes, that was usually the point. A neat little knife to slip into your back to goad you,” Aziraphale confessed, looking away when Crowley stared in shock. “Especially once I agreed to thwart you.”

“Like at the bandstand,” Crowley realized, blowing out a breath when Aziraphale nodded. “Why?”

Aziraphale rubbed a hand over their face and closed their eyes. “Because I still thought it would stop the war once they knew Warlock wasn’t the anti-christ... but if that didn’t work then I thought the only way to make sure you were safe was to find a way to redeem you in heaven’s books. Turning against hell, killing the anti-christ, surely that would be enough, I thought. But that backfired rather spectacularly, didn’t it?” they laughed humorlessly. “You rightfully had no interest in seeking forgiveness when you hadn’t done anything wrong, not that I saw it that way at the time. And then it hit me, when you told me I should be the one to kill the boy, that if I failed to stop it you’d be found out and executed. You talked of leaving and I realized that the only other way to save you was to drive you away again. But you came back. Why did you come back?”

 _Because I love you and I didn’t want to be without you._ “Best friend,” Crowley croaked around the other words lodged in their throat. “Was just scared, frustrated. Didn’t really mean it.”

Tears welled in Aziraphale’s eyes. “No, I know. I’m sorry I lied to you, sorry I put you through that. I just wanted you to be safe. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

Crowley didn’t know what to say. Finally they settled on asking, “What brought this on?” They kept looking at Aziraphale’s profile, recognizing that their expression was one of disgust. After a moment they realized the _liking_ feeling was gone again, and that Aziraphale’s loathing was aimed at themself.

Aziraphale twisted their hands together, staring down at Crowley’s ring, unable to see the colors in the darkness but assuming it was entirely anxious amber again. “Because I see you doing genuinely nice, kind, caring things and I wonder why you bother with me, after all I’ve done wrong.”

“What? Don’t go painting me like some kind of saint! I’ve said plenty of nasty things to you, did things to piss you off. I made the M25 a prayer wheel to Satan for fucks sake. I did plenty of things I’m not proud of, plenty of the wrong thing. Doing good is a choice and sometimes I just didn’t. And there are plenty of times when you _did_. I’ve seen you with Warlock, and Harriet, and Erica, and the witches, and you’re all those with your neighbors too.” Crowley rolled their eyes when Aziraphale shook their head. “Alright, give me examples. I’ll prove you wrong this time.”

“I never would have thought to trade with Agnes-”

“Yeah, so? You’d have miracled up a new coat for her instead.”

Aziraphale made a face, unable to deny that that would have been their solution. “I didn’t even think to perform a hangover miracle.”

“And this time you told them how to prevent getting a hangover in the first place,” Crowley retorted, grinning to see Aziraphale’s annoyance. “I’m not going to let you martyr yourself over this, angel.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, well, no one’s perfect. I won’t hold it against you.”

Aziraphale sighed and shook their head, stroking their fingers over the ring. “What about all the things you’ve done for me over the years?”

“You’ve done plenty for me over the years too,” Crowley dismissed, resting their hand over Aziraphale’s. “Best friends always get preferential treatment.”

“I haven’t done enough,” Aziraphale whispered, stroking their thumb over Crowley’s knuckles and staring sightlessly out the window. “Not nearly enough.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” They jiggled Aziraphale’s hand, making them meet Crowley’s eyes. “I’m not keeping some kind of ledger, like you’ve a debt to pay off.”

“I am.” Aziraphale smiled faintly at Crowley’s expression. “It’s a rather severe deficit on my part.”

Crowley hissed with frustration and shook their head. “Bollocks. Why would you say that?”

Aziraphale sighed. It always seemed to come back to the church in ‘41 and what happened after. They did their best to avoid thinking about it, but all the talk of the past kept bringing it to the forefront of their mind. But they didn’t, couldn’t bear to say it so baldly as that. “Talking about Polsilver, it just made it clear to me how many times you’ve come to my rescue when it would’ve been safer, smarter for you to stay away.” How close they had come to losing Crowley forever. “You had no reason to risk yourself for me and you did anyway.”

“And how many times did you save me?” Another hiss when Aziraphale shook their head. “Not just like with Polsilver and the Black Knight, but like Rome? I was so damned miserable and you were a literal ray of sunshine. You’d just show up, just being you when I needed you.” There were so many of those times, just little blips of time together that had meant the world to Crowley. “Taking all those blasted horse-riding trips for me? Ah, you thought I didn’t notice you twiddling the coin-tosses didn’t you? You really think I miracled _Hamlet_ out of the goodness of my tragedy-loathing heart?” Crowley teased, getting a reluctant chuckle from Aziraphale.

“Perhaps not,” Aziraphale conceded. “But you put yourself in _danger_ -”

“I didn’t though. No more than you did, hanging around with me. Aside from...” Crowley cleared their throat when Aziraphale went still. _Still not going there._ “Aside from that once, neither of us was really in any danger. Sure discorporation would have been annoying-”

“Crowley, any human can make holy water if they believe strongly enough,” Aziraphale said with a quiet despair. “Until Nanny Ogg, I’ve never seen a human make something that could make hellfire.”

The pain in their voice gave Crowley a pang of guilt. “Er, fair enough. But I convinced you to go against heaven. You were risking everything-”

“To me, you were always risking more, going against Satan. I knew, of course, that it might mean… I never thought heaven would, would go so far as to destroy me for my rebellion,” Aziraphale admitted. “I knew you were right, that it was the right thing to do. But you showing up to get me out of some nonsense I got myself into is another matter. That was me putting you in danger.” Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s hand and whispered. “You could have died, Crowley. And I would have been the one to kill you.”

Crowley was beginning to realize this was really all about the church. And what almost happened afterwards. “You didn’t put me in danger, angel. I put myself there. Willingly. I chose to do those things. I chose,” Crowley said, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes as they said it, willing Aziraphale to feel that they didn’t blame Aziraphale for any of it. “I chose to do what I did.” How close to a confession that was, but Aziraphale was hurting and needed to know it wasn’t their burden to carry. “I was never mad at you, never blamed you.”

“Oh, Crowley.” It helped, to hear Crowley say those things. For Aziraphale to see in their eyes how sincerely they meant it. “Thank you. That means the world to me.”

Crowley let out a shaky breath. “My wings to yours, Aziraphale. Always.”

Aziraphale clasped Crowley’s hand in both of theirs. “Always.”

They drove for a while in silence, lost in their thoughts and the relief of a tension that had been unresolved for decades. Eventually Crowley said, “You know, in my mind I felt pretty safe, because no one knew I was a demon.”

Aziraphale gave them a solemn look. “Finks knew.”

Crowley rolled their eyes. “Aziraphale! We didn’t even know the man was a threat, you can’t tell me it’s your fault he got me. Besides, you saved me from him.”

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale’s hand tightened around Crowley’s. “It terrified me, seeing you in that circle.”

“It did?” Crowley blurted in surprise.

“Of course it did! They knew what you were, they had you trapped in that disgusting spell and I didn’t know if I could get to you in time.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and looked at Crowley. “We, we’d just become friends again, I didn’t want to lose you again. Couldn’t lose you again.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Crowley gave Aziraphale’s hand a squeeze. “I was scared too. Not of Finks but of what would happen when downstairs found out. It was pretty satisfying to see them all writhing around clutching their bitten bits. Like a Disney Princess gone to the dark side.” Crowley sighed at Aziraphale’s confused expression. “We really need to bring you into the twentieth century, angel.”

“But this is the twenty-first- oh, I see. Yes, it might take me a while to catch up.” Aziraphale’s thoughts returned to Finks. “I wish we’d done more that first time. Who knows how many he hurt with that spell.”

“We didn’t know they’d be useless. Besides, we had Warlock to think about, and how bad it would be if word got out to anyone what had happened,” Crowley reminded them. “So what’s the big deal about the spell?”

“It was a spell-circle created with the sole purpose of siphoning power away from whomever is trapped within it, and bestowing it upon the one who created the circle. Exceedingly vile magics.”

“Oh, right. Probably used the same one to get the siren song,” Crowley realized. “Didn’t Polsilver have one like that set up in his lair?” Crowley blinked and let out a laugh.

“What?”

“The ruin, that was Polsilver’s keep. How did we not recognize it?”

“It has been six hundred years,” said Aziraphale. “And there were a lot more trees back then. And a lot more keep actually. Oh, er, that was my doing, wasn’t it. Oh dear.”

“Not like we could just leave an evil wizard’s lair just standing around intact,” Crowley soothed, “or someone else would have stepped in to fill his shoes. As it was there was that nasty little apprentice who tried to finish what Polsilver had started.”

“If he’d realized what I was, he’d have achieved whatever terrible thing they had planned. Dreadful men, dreadful duel.” Aziraphale shuddered a little at the memory. “That was what convinced me, you know, to agree to the Arrangement.”

Crowley canted their head curiously, hoping the darkness was hiding their blush as they thought again of how glowingly Aziraphale had described them to the witches. “The duel?”

Aziraphale shook their head. “That we’d both been sent by our own sides, into a trap. They’d sent us off to at best, be slaves, and worst, be drained of power until our firmaments were scattered. Direct violations of the rules they are supposed to be following,” said Aziraphale. “I didn’t want to believe it. I often didn’t believe it, not of heaven. But he’d almost, you were… and it was easy to believe it of hell.”

“He had promised to usher in the end times after all. Both sides were willing to bargain to get that,” said Crowley. “And we were rather disposable in their books. Though, I wonder.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think they remember,” Crowley said. “That you’re the source of the swords’ fire.”

Aziraphale opened their mouth to deny it, but let out a sigh instead. “If it is somehow fed from my power, then you’re right, they wouldn’t have been so eager to see me go. Unless it didn’t matter which side I was on. Or even belonged at all, as long as I continued to wear the mark and uphold my oath to obey.”

“I wonder how long it’ll take them to make the connection?”

“I wonder why they need it at all? I mean, they’ve a whole host of celestials… but perhaps I’m not the only one. Perhaps there are other parts of the power of the host that are taken from individuals’ powers.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Crowley agreed. “You’re probably the first to break free.”

“My oath wasn’t just broken. It was unspoken.” Aziraphale’s expression shifted into a faint smile with just a slight edge to it. “As you said, fell but not fallen. And that applies to you was well, my dear, because after so many betrayals, such as sending us to Polsilver like fatted calves to the slaughter, they have forfeited their right to whatever we’d given them.”

“I never unspoke it though,” said Crowley quietly.

“My dear friend,” said Aziraphale with a hint of amusement in their voice, “your every action in the past six thousand years has been an unspeaking. A million little acts of rebellion certainly carry as much weight as my one large one.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Crowley. “Acting like I was the only one. You rebelled in a ton of little ways too. And you could _lie_ about it.”

Aziraphale sighed a little and murmured, “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.” They shook their head and admitted, “I always assumed you could hide it as I could because I’ve seen you twist the truth like a pretzel and not trigger the sense of a lie.”

“But that’s the point. It’s not the whole truth maybe, but it’s _not_ a lie. Dangerous to get caught in a lie down there.” Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. “I never lied to you.”

“No, I realize that now.” Aziraphale looked away, feeling ashamed. “Crowley-”

“No.” Crowley smirked when they stared in surprise. “No more sorries. I’m not holding it against you, alright? Do you need me to say it?” Aziraphale looked away again and nodded. Crowley leaned over and murmured, “I forgive you. Now try to forgive yourself.”

“That is by far the harder of the two,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, resting their shoulder against Aziraphale’s. “You want to talk about jealous, though...” Crowley blew out a teasing breath and gave Aziraphale a smile. “Did your horse really run away on the way to Polsilver’s?” they asked suspiciously. “Now that I think about it-”

“It did... when I turned into a lion,” Aziraphale admitted, smiling a little when Crowley grinned at them. “Traveling by paw was so much more comfortable. And I wasn’t really slower than the horse, I was just busy helping scare off some bandits. You’re right, small rebellions, all I could muster really.”

“There, see, terrifying bandits, that _was_ nice, and upstairs couldn’t get mad at you for being nice,” said Crowley, making Aziraphale chuckle. “I was just miserable and made the beast miserable too. It was a good day when cars were invented.”

“Hmm,” said Aziraphale diplomatically, making Crowley grin.

“Okay, a good day for me.”

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale a lot less diplomatically, giving them a playfully frowning sidelong look.

Crowley laughed. “What do you want to do when we get home?” Crowley’s heart skipped a beat at letting that word slip out, mentally kicking themself when Aziraphale’s thumb stopped its soothing circular motion over their knuckles. _Great, perfect, good work, gah! A week!!_

 _Home. Hea-, somebody help me, it is. Home. With Crowley._ The silence hung in the air between them for a long moment before Aziraphale cleared their throat and said, “Perhaps we, uh, should decide on what we’ll need for tomorrow? Maybe even do a divination or two, see what there is to be seen.” They gave Crowley a shy glance and murmured, “Otherwise I could finish the book I was reading, if you’re tired?”

Crowley’s heart went from skipping to performing the cancan, and they tried to play it cool. “Oh, er, nah, not yet anyway, but later, sure sure, yeah, I-I’d like that. Maybe I, uh, could help you with the, you know, wossname, readings? I, er, might know a few methods you’re not familiar with?”

Aziraphale smiled and shifted their hands so that their fingers interlaced with Crowley’s. “I’d like that.”


	28. All Things Seen And Unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get interesting at the Unseen University. Introducing Simon, the Educated Rodents and more mysteries.
> 
> [TW: Crowley is extremely confrontational with Simon about self destructive thoughts/behavior.]

The campus of the Unseen University was surprisingly large, with a tall tower at one end, somehow nestled among the busy streets of the surrounding city. A tall brick wall, ancient and faded to the point of somehow blending into the background, surrounded the campus and dissuaded even the most curious of tourists. It helped that there was a longstanding ancient tradition of wizardry among the faculty and students, adding layer upon layer of magic until new students could barely find their way from one building to another without a physical guide, let alone allowing unwelcome outsiders a way on to the campus itself.

The protections were so strong that even Aziraphale and Crowley had never really noticed the welter of magic hidden in plain sight.

They didn’t take the Bentley, mostly because Crowley didn’t trust the wizards to not do something far worse than the witches had. When the bus let them off near the main gate, the two celestial beings stood hidden by Crowley’s power and stared for a moment, taking it in.

“They’re right,” admitted Aziraphale, brows drawn together in concern, shifting their grip on the handle of the umbrella. They hadn’t thought much of their sword since they’d given it away, but something about the feeling around the Unseen University campus was making the reformed angel wish they had it again, instead of the too light, not right knock-off they’d ‘borrowed’, as Crowley put it, from heaven. “Something preternatural is building in this area. There is a very sp- er, creepy feeling to this place.”

“Creepy in a very bad way. There’s definitely something brewing here,” agreed Crowley. “Are you sure about this, angel? We don’t have to get ourselves involved.”

Aziraphale continued to stare at the old brick and black metal gate with it’s smaller port propped open with a half-brick. A surprisingly jaunty banner stretched over the portal, promoting the book fair and people were wandering inside. “Do you really think that?” they asked quietly, hooking the umbrella over their arm and magicking up a tartan carpetbag.

Crowley huffed, smirking at the picture Aziraphale made with the umbrella and bag, but shook their head in answer. “No. But I don’t have to like it. Those signs we got last night...”

“Yes, well, as long as we’re agreed.” Crowley let the power fade as they crossed the road together and slipped through the open portal. There were little booths set up on the octagonal green and an array of people wandering through and all thoughts of ‘creepy’ went right out of Aziraphale’s mind as they spotted a book dealer they knew. “Oh!”

Crowley rolled their eyes knowingly and smiled to themself, following in Aziraphale’s wake as they made a beeline to the bookdealer’s stand. The former demon loitered a little bit away from the booth, their back to Aziraphale as they watched the people meandering from booth to booth on the green.

It wasn’t very much later when Crowley spotted Esk carrying an empty bag and cup from a nearby food vendor to deposit it in the rubbish bin, walking away from a young man in a powered chair who was reading in the shade. A quick mental inquiry with Aziraphale made it clear they were in no hurry leave the booth so Crowley let them know where they were going and sauntered off in Esk’s direction, stretching their connection to the very edge of their range.

Esk did a double-take upon spotting Crowley in a different but oddly familiar coat and smiled in welcome. “Hello Crowley, Aziraphale here with you?”

The former demon still wasn’t used to people being pleased to see them, at least, people other than Aziraphale. “Yeah, Aziraphale’s off treasure hunting,” Crowley sniffed, waving in their direction. “Thought I’d let them have their fun before we have to get to our appointment with the Librarian.” As they reached the young man, the swirls of magic became visible to Crowley’s sight and their gaze sharpened on him, frowning to recognize the taint of a Thing’s attack somehow leeching the power from him without killing him.

“Hello, you must be Crowley,” said the man in the chair, “I’m Simon. Esk was telling me about how you, uh, met.” It was clear he wasn’t quite sure he believed all that Esk had told him.

Crowley nodded distractedly, their mind racing as they sorted through the possible ways a young wizard could have come in contact with a Thing, and asked, “When did you go to the dungeon dimension?”

Simon’s eyes went wide and he looked at Esk, but she was staring at Crowley with a sudden painful light of hope in her eyes. “About eight years ago,” she whispered. “And he’s been getting weaker ever since.”

Simon’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Esk, you know I’ve got-”

“She’s right,” interrupted Crowley. “I can sense it. One of the Things stung or bit you?”

The young man’s expression went hollow and haunted. “Yes.”

“We need Aziraphale.” Crowley turned to scan the crowd and felt a stab of panic, as it had somehow seemingly tripled in the few moments they’d been talking and there was no sign of Aziraphale.

And then Aziraphale was there, umbrella hooked to elbow and carpet bag full of books in one hand, the other one sliding reassuringly into Crowley’s. “What’s wrong?” they asked, having felt the jolt of of emotion through the bond.

“Nothing, nothing, just, uh, just lost sight of you for a minute there.” Crowley shook their head but let out a shaky breath, smiling at Aziraphale with a hint of pride in their expression. “Did you just do the thing and awe-step?”

Aziraphale’s eyes lingered worriedly on Crowley for a moment but they smiled. “I did. Need to practice after all.” They turned to offer Esk and the young man a smile but it disintegrated when they sensed what Crowley had. “Oh dear.”

“This is Simon, friend of Esk’s. Had a run in with one of our old pals, as you can tell.”

“How long has that been going on?” Aziraphale shook their head and continued before anyone could answer. “This really won’t do. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

Simon looked between the two of them, clearly confused and wary, but when Esk gave him a pleading look he answered, “Our rooms are just around the corner.”

“That should do just fine.” Simon took the lead, with Esk beside him and the two celestials followed behind. There was a very old door set into the outer wall of the nearest building, with a very fresh looking ramp set up and an automatic opener to give Simon access to it. The door opened to a lobby that had a surprisingly modern elevator wedged in the corner.

Another automatic opener on their shared rooms on the second floor let him roll inside without having to struggle with the heavy old door. “So what’s going on?” Simon asked, turning to watch them as they entered. “Esk says you’re really powerful magic users but-”

“Wot, a wizard who’s not a believer in the supernatural?” asked Crowley, sauntering around the edge of the room while Aziraphale settled onto the couch when Esk waved for them to sit. “That’s a new one. You went beyond the edge of hell and saw the Things, but demons are too much?”

Simon frowned and shrugged. “Because if they’re real, then angels are real, and if they’re real then why the hell aren’t they helping?” he said with a glare. “Why-”

“Because they don’t want to,” answered Aziraphale quietly, shocking him quiet. “At least the ones in charge don’t. The only difference between most demons and angels,” Aziraphale nodded in Crowley’s direction, “is the side they’ve been put on. Human lives are inconsequential, and gathering souls to their side is a game to pass the time until Armageddon.”

Simon looked from Aziraphale to Crowley, who nodded, and back to the grim-faced former angel. “Then why...”

“We’re not playing their game anymore,” Aziraphale said, toying with the handle of the umbrella. “ _We_ chose to help. But we can only really help, can only heal, those who have come to an Arrangement with us. Silly isn’t it? The rules of the universe seem...” They slid a look at Crowley.

“ _Ineffable,_ ” the former demon said with a sneer. :Us?: Crowley mentally blurted. :You keep saying that. You sure that’s a good idea?:

“Maybe I don’t want your healing,” Simon said hoarsely, staring hard at Aziraphale.

“That is entirely your choice, Simon,” said Aziraphale gently, peripherally aware of Crowley’s agitation. “We won’t heal you, if that’s truly not what you want.” To Crowley they said, :Yes, us, and yes, I’m quite sure. If it wasn’t the sword, as you keep insisting, then it must be something within my power. By that same token, it must be within yours as well. You destroyed the Things as readily as I did, you will recall.: Crowley gave them the mental equivalent of a nod and shrug and Aziraphale told Simon, “I really must insist you allow us to destroy the, the leech, I suppose is a good enough term? The longer it stays, the stronger it gets and the more it will affect reality. Has been affecting it.”

“I, oh, uh, okay. The healing, I...” Simon pressed a hand to his eyes, shaking his head in denial. “If I let you heal me, if people see me not needing my chair anymore-”

“It’s a miracle, but it’s not as miraculous as you might be thinking,” Aziraphale corrected. “You’ll feel better right away, but better isn’t back to where you were. We aren’t powerful enough to do that and never will be. We can put you in remission, we can block the pain, but you’re still ill, still needing assistance and will have to work to regain whatever strength and mobility you can. The magic helps your body do the work, but it has limitations, and what it can repair, isn’t instantaneous.”

Simon nodded in understanding but frowned and began to make another token protest but Crowley interrupted. “What, you’re going to say it’s not fair to the ones we can’t heal? You’re right, it bloody well isn’t fair. Take it up with whoever made the rules. But we can help you, and maybe you can help others, yeah?”

Simon hesitated, and finally looked at Esk, who was sitting still as stone, staring down at her hands in her lap, her lips pressed into a thin trembling line. “All right,” he murmured, resting a hand over hers, “All right?” Clearly there was more to the question because she broke into a hesitant smile but a few tears escaped onto her cheeks as she nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“I assume Esk has told you about our Arrangement?” Aziraphale asked, carefully setting aside the umbrella and standing. They fixed their clothes as they focused their senses on Simon, to assess what, if anything they could heal. But in the back of their mind they were wondering why Simon wasn’t being truthful with Esk about being healed.

“She’s mentioned it, yes.” There was a quick flash of a grin as Simon looked back at Esk, who was biting her lips and looking pointedly at the ceiling and not at any of them.

Crowley gave the humans a wry smirk. “I’ve always said you humans are far too clever for your own good.”

“You have,” Aziraphale chuckled. “Possibly for our own good as well.”

Crowley snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“There was a list of things that you agreed with?” Simon asked, looking back at the two of them. Crowley had come to stand beside Aziraphale, both watching him as intently as he was looking at them. “You both promise to not do anything to us without consent, to teach us all about magic, and only meddle with human stuff if necessary?”

“Those’re the high points, yeah,” said Crowley. “Still stands.”

“And in return I promise to help you give them a hard time, which sounds awesome,” he said with a grin. “And to trust that you’re both good at heart, too clever for _their_ own good, and indestructible,” he said confidently, that part of his belief in them already set.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a surprised look but both nodded in agreement and Aziraphale magicked up a tiny wooden cup filled with Nanny’s blessed scumble. Simon’s eyes went wide at the sudden overpowering smell of apples. “If you’re amiable, drink and burn the cup. That will allow us to remove the leech and heal you as best we may.”

Simon accepted the drink, bracing himself before tossing it back and letting out a sputtering cough. “Holy Hell!” he gasped, eyes full of tears. “What did Nanny put in there?”

“We’ve been wondering that ourselves,” said Aziraphale dryly. “Possibly anvils.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look while Simon laugh-coughed and tried to catch his breath. :So how do you plan to get rid of it?:

:I think it would be best if we’re outside of time when we make our first attempt, if you’re up for it?: Aziraphale could tell Crowley wanted to protest about ‘we’, but the reformed angel reminded them, :We are far stronger together than we are apart. Trust me.:

Crowley shifted just enough for their shoulder to brush against Aziraphale’s. :Yeah, alright. But, uh… trust me too? He, he’s, there’s stuff that he’s hiding from her. I can sense it. It won’t be nice but I can’t, I need to say something.:

Aziraphale gave them a quick concerned look but mentally nodded. :I sensed deception from him about being healed. And I do trust you.:

When Simon had his breath back he frowned down at the cup, expending a little bit of magic to incinerate it. He reared back in surprise when a gout of flame shot up from his hand and his expression blanked for a moment, then his eyes popped open wide and he stared in amazement at the two of them. “Oh.”

“I told you so,” Esk murmured in a sing-song voice.

“Indeed,” agreed Aziraphale, moving to stand in front of Simon. “Crowley’s going to move us outside of time for a moment, if you don’t mind Esk?” She frowned but nodded, moving to the window seat behind Simon. “Crowley, if you will?”

Crowley set a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and snapped their fingers, sending them out-time. “Oi, so we can tell you’re planning on being ssstupid about this,” Crowley snapped, making Simon scowl. It was there on the edge of Crowley’s senses, the secret Simon most wanted to conceal. “Going to martyr yourself instead of living life to its fullest. Choosing to be worm food because you’ve decided you deserve this. That’s just _brilliant_.”

“Hey!” Simon protested, cheeks heating with embarrassment. To hear those dreadful hateful inner-most thoughts mocked in that hissy sarcastic voice. “It’s my choice.”

“Oh, yeah, some choice. So how big of a fool are you going to be?” Crowley asked, prowling away from Aziraphale and doing a double-take when they realized Esk was _then_ with them too, sitting stiffly in the window seat with her eyes closed. Crowley looked away and said, “Nothing quite like making your best friend watch you choose to not take care of yourself, is there?”

Aziraphale was watching Simon as Crowley talked, could read his expressions almost as easily as a book, and it was obvious that Crowley had made a direct hit. “Crowley-”

“The angel doesn’t like it when I’m not nice,” Crowley said, circling around behind Aziraphale. “But I’m not nice, never claimed to be. And neither are you, eh Simon? Instead of taking care of yourself, you’re killing yourself, one missed dose and ignored symptom at a time. Instead of using that incredible clever mind of yours to do something good, you’re causing harm. Yeah, it’s not fair, but that doesn’t mean you lay down and die, it means you get up and fight!”

“Sometimes you can’t fight anymore!” Simon yelled back. “Do you think I want to hurt her? That I want to die and leave her alone? Nobody really wants to die, but I’m so fucking tired of hurting all the time, of having to fight at every turn just for a damned ramp or a door opener. Of having to convince people I’m still a person and not a just a burden. That I’m not faking all this for the attention.” He rubbed at his eyes. “That I’m not using Esk to keep my career afloat. That she’s not using me in some way. I hate how people talk about her, about us! It’s... she’s better off without me.”

“She doesn’t think so,” said Aziraphale softly, miracling up a handkerchief for him. “I can feel her love for you. And your love for her. She wouldn’t be here, with you, if she didn’t want to be, didn’t _choose_ to be.”

Crowley prowled closer, staring at Simon for a long moment. “Pushing her away won’t make it easier on her,” they murmured. “It just makes you both suffer and she ends up mourning you twice. Why would you do that? Why would you want that?”

“I don’t, I just…”

“You and Esk don’t have to do this alone anymore, Simon. We’ll help you fight, however, whenever you want or need us to,” Aziraphale promised, offering their right hand. Simon hesitantly took it, surprised and relieved that they still seemed quite human even after what they’d seen. “Let us help you. Please.”

“When you’re ready to rest, we’ll help with that too,” Crowley promised lowly. When Simon nodded Crowley offered their left hand and he took it.

Simon had to clear his throat a few times but he finally said, “Fix whatever you can. For Esk. And me too, but that’s harder than doing it for her.”

“Understood. This might sting a little,” said Aziraphale after taking Crowley’s right hand. :It’s hidden itself from me. Can you find it?:

:Yeah. It knows we’re hunting it I think. There it is, yesss...: A tendril of their twined outer auras invisibly coiled around Simon and then struck, sending a lance of golden-bronze light with a dark auroral corona searing thought him, obliterating the budding Thing that had been feeding on his magic.

Simon sucked in a shuddering breath at the shock of it, at the lightning fast blaze of power that flashed through him, his hands tightening painfully on theirs. And then it was gone and he let out a shuddering breath as they gently released his hands. “Thank you,” he said thickly, pressing the handkerchief to his eyes.

Crowley snapped them back into time, watching Esk as she pressed her hands to her face and did a few slow deep breaths. _How in the world did she manage to do that?_

Aziraphale miracled up a bottle of what was essentially a sports drink for Simon. “I do wish that could have waited until you were sober, but perhaps it’s better this way, take the edge off of the memories when you look back on it later.” Simon sipped from the bottle and Aziraphale urged, “You keep that handy and go have a lie down. It really will be best for you if can sleep, give everything time to find equilibrium, hmm?”

“Yeah, I… yeah, sleep sounds really good.” He smiled up at Esk when she came to help him but he shook his head at her. “I’m sorry love,” he murmured, accepting the kiss she pressed to his forehead. “I know you’ve things to talk about. Have a good bitch fest about me,” he teased, urging her down into a kiss. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too, you stubborn bastard,” she whispered back, getting a chuckle from him. She retreated back to her seat while he drove himself down the hall and into the bedroom.

None of them moved until the bedroom door closed with a quiet _snick_ and then Aziraphale turned to Crowley and asked, “Did you have to be quite so harsh?”

“He was being an idiot,” Crowley shrugged, still watching Esk. “Martyrs are the _worst_.” She hiccuped and let out a damp laugh in agreement.

Aziraphale closed their eyes and let out a breath. “We can’t just bully people into doing things, Crowley. What if he’d decided to not let us kill the leech after that? What then?”

“Then I’d have to live with that,” said Crowley harshly. “Just like I’ve lived with it every other time. Just like you have. The boy wanted to agree, but he was too interested in being _nice_.” Aziraphale sputtered but Crowley ignored them to move closer to Esk. “Right?”

Esk was nodding, wiping at her eyes. “He blames himself, for what happened.”

“What?” Aziraphale frowned, eyes getting wide as they realized what Crowley was implying. “You mean Esk was with us to hear all of that? Crowley!”

“It’s okay,” she said, clearly not okay, accepting the handkerchief Aziraphale offered her.

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a worried frown and the reformed angel sat down beside Esk on the window seat. “Hmm. If you don’t mind, Crowley, would you put my books in the Bentley?” they asked with just the faintest scolding edge in their voice. But silently they said, :Will you give me a moment with her alone? Simon might have needed sharp, but she needs soft, from someone a little less intimidating than you.:

:Shit. Alright.: Crowley threw up their hands dramatically and snatched up the bag and stalked towards the door. :Let me know when I can come out of time-out for bad behavior,: they said, half joking.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, fond amusement in their voice.

Esk couldn’t help but laugh at the put-upon look Crowley gave her before stalking out. “I know it’s none of my business but... how long have you and Crowley known one another?”

Aziraphale was looking at the door but not really seeing it, following Crowley as they sauntered down the hallway towards the elevator, clearly in no hurry to get anywhere. They dragged their awareness back to Esk. “We’ve been friends for about six thousand years.”

“What? Really?” She smiled but twisted the handkerchief around her fingers and had to clear her throat before saying, “That really does explain a lot.”

“It rather does, doesn’t it,” agreed Aziraphale with a faint smile. The smile turned into a sigh and they soothed, “I’m sorry you had to hear Crowley say all that, my dear. They’re, er, they’re rather impulsive, I’m afraid, and don’t always consider how the things they say might come across. They really do mean well.”

“I know. And it wasn’t anything I didn’t already know,” she said, looking down at the handkerchief tangled up in her hands. “But he wouldn’t listen to me and I wanted… I needed someone else to tell him what I couldn’t. So,” she shrugged and pressed the handkerchief to her eyes when more tears escaped. Let them fall when Aziraphale offered her a hug and a shoulder to cry on. When the brief cathartic moment passed she told them, “It’s been so hard, dealing with this. Couldn’t tell the therapist about the magic side of it. Didn’t feel like I could talk to the wizards about it. And I didn’t want to burden anyone with,” she waved to take in the tears still streaming down her face. “I’m so grateful for everything you both did today.”

Aziraphale smiled at that and patted her hand. “I’m relieved it worked. It’s not the way I would have approached it, but then it seems like my way might not have convinced him.”

“No. I’ve tried, so many times. But I’m his girlfriend, so I have to be nice, he thinks.” She let out a long sigh. “Thank you for helping him. And for letting me cry on you. I, I don’t usually...”

Aziraphale nodded and sent a wordless thought to Crowley for them to return. “I figured as much. But we all need a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on sometimes.”

“Even you?” she asked. “Even Crowley?” There was more than a little doubt in her voice.

“Oh yes, even me, even Crowley.” Aziraphale looked down at the ring, smiling a little to themself to see it was mostly relieved blue with that constant edge of purple. “We haven’t been able to talk to _anyone_ since the fall, especially when we sought each other out and kept doing so. It’s been good, to have my best friend back. Very, very good.”

Esk’s expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry, it didn’t even occur to me that you’d want that sort of attachment. I just, you both, well, Crowley especially, have this wall of, ‘this far, no farther’. I guess I assumed that applied to everyone?”

“They were a demon bound to hell,” Aziraphale reminded her gently. “Attachments are weaknesses to be used. Heaven isn’t actually much better in that regard.” They smiled, sensing Crowley’s return. “But we’re not bound by their rules anymore.”

They both jumped when Crowley suddenly reappeared inside the apartment. “We bleeding well didn’t bring the Bentley,” Crowley sneered, narrowing their eyes suspiciously at Aziraphale.

“Oh! Oh dear, must have slipped my mind,” said Aziraphale, radiating innocence. “Lose my head next.”

“It can be arranged, angel,” Crowley threatened emptily, stalking over to loom over them and setting down the books at Aziraphale’s feet. “Did you buy books or bricks? A ton of lead or a boulder or five?”

Aziraphale beamed up at them. “Only one boulder, maybe a brick or two,” the reformed angel said, smiling at Esk when she snorted out a laugh. “I do hope you didn’t walk too far before you remembered.”

“Ha ha ha,” Crowley jeered to hide their amused smile. “Most of the way to the ground floor before it hit me. Would you’ve reminded me before I went out looking?” Aziraphale hummed and shrugged, eyes crinkling with humor when Crowley spluttered and threw up their hands, stalking away and back again as Esk laughed. Crowley stuffed their hands into their pockets and after a beat quietly asked her, “You alright?”

She was smiling to herself to see the fondness in their expressions as they’d bantered, very much like people who’d been friend for millennia. She smiled at Crowley and nodded. “Yeah, I will be. Thanks for saying what I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, sure.” Crowley fidgeted and admitted, “Didn’t actually mean for you to hear it.”

“I know. It was mostly relief, that there was more going on than just him getting sicker.” She let out a heavy sigh and decided it was time to change the subject. “So, uh, can I tag along with you to your meeting? The Librarian’s told you about the bad signs we’ve been getting?”

“If you like. They only explained in the vaguest of terms. Perhaps you’d tell us about what exactly has been plaguing the campus?”

“It started about a decade ago as best we can tell, but it’s only obvious in hindsight. Started small, but it’s too blatant to ignore at this point. Can’t keep mirrors uncovered without seeing visions of death and destruction. The senior faculty expected it to blow over once the Tadfield apocalypse didn’t happen, but it hasn’t and now they’re finally worried. One of them saw the library in flames in the back of their dessert spoon and immediately retired to Genoa.”

“Well that’s not good. Bet that’s got the Librarian upset,” said Crowley thoughtfully. “Does the man have a name?” they asked Esk. “And why doesn’t he talk?”

“I’m sure he’s got one, but I’ve never heard anyone use it,” Esk admitted. “And he was caught in an, uh, incident, when he was just starting out here and it took his ability to speak. He learned sign language and just kept on going. But, uh, fair warning, he hates the word ‘ginger’ in reference to red hair, just absolutely goes ape shit if someone calls him that.”

“Not too fond of it myself, the way some people say it,” Crowley said with a sniff.

“He doesn’t look like someone you’d want to anger,” said Aziraphale consideringly.

Esk nodded. “I think the magic that took his speech compensated him in other ways. I’ve seen him pick up grown men and toss them like twigs. And he scaled up the side of the Tower of Art like it was a stroll in the park. Just straight up the side, to rescue one of the fresh meat who’d gone up on a dare.”

“Fresh meat?” Crowley laughed. “That being the new students I take it?”

“Er, yeah, I shouldn’t call them that but everyone does and it seeps in after a while,” she admitted.

“We should probably go, before they think we aren’t coming,” said Aziraphale, pushing themself up to their feet, umbrella in one hand, the satchel of books in the other.

“Do you want to leave your books and umbrella here for now?”

“Oh, the books yes, thank you Esk. Where is best so they’re out of the way for Simon?”

“The window seat.” She locked the door behind them and they fell into step with her back towards the elevator. “So do you feel it? Not everyone does.”

They both nodded an affirmative as they stepped onto the elevator. “There is definitely something malign building here,” said Aziraphale.

“Agnes said it’s been getting bad enough everyone is noticing it,” said Crowley questioningly.

“Yes,” Esk nodded and made a face. “Enrollment’s down, that probably the real thing that finally got their attention. Wait, I knew I recognized it! Isn’t that Agnes’ coat?” she said.

“It was,” Crowley said. “We did a trade. Feel how warm. And look at these pockets!”

Esk smiled and felt the fabric on their proffered arm, suitably impressed by the array of pockets currently holding all they needed for doing divinations later. “Ooh, that’s great. Where’d she get it?”

“She made it herself. How clever is that?”

“She did?” Esk said, surprised to see the pride in the former demon’s expression. “I wonder if I could commission one from her. I’m all thumbs when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“Seems to be something she enjoys. And she’s clearly got a talent for it.”

“I’ll text her later and ask her about it.”

When they stepped out and away from the door, Crowley fell back, reeling at the rush of sensations that washed over them from the milling crowd gathered there. “The hell?”

Aziraphale murmured, “Shield,” curling their hand around Crowley’s elbow to steady them.

Crowley took a deep breath, annoyed with themself for forgetting and with whoever put a psychic dampener on the building but not over the grounds. “This new sense is proving to be a pain in the arse,” they grumbled, relaxing slightly once they pulled their senses tightly inward, deflecting most of the unwanted psychic stimulus. “Feel like I’m wearing blinders with everything clamped down like this.”

“It will take a while to adapt I’m afraid,” said Aziraphale, putting on a slightly dotty smile as they scoured the crowd for signs of anything really; anyone that seemed out of place or a little too curious. It was a moment’s thought to gather power in hand and ready a couple of spells as they stroked their thumb over Crowley’s arm soothingly. “Do you want to do the thing? Or hide?”

Crowley shook their head, resting their hand over Aziraphale’s, unsure how to respond to the concerned look Esk was giving them. “Takes too much concentration with this many people, and if I’m focusing on that I won’t be able to respond to an attack.”

“Is there likely to be one?” Esk worried, instantly shifting her stance on Crowley’s left into something more grounded and able to respond to a threat. “Agnes told me about the thing at Biers. There are protections on the buildings to keep out hostile beings but not on the grounds. Wizards,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Oh, the dampening,” she realized. “Yeah, sorry, I should’ve said. I don’t even know what they were thinking. If they were.”

Crowley looked away from her in consternation, still trying to get their equilibrium back, sliding a glance to Aziraphale, who was watching the crowd with a faintly disconcerting smile on their face, a couple of spells coiled invisibly in the palm their right hand. It was a side Aziraphale hadn’t shown to anyone let alone Crowley in the last few centuries and they were struck by how beautiful their angel looked with that hint of fierceness showing. Their eyes met and Crowley had to look away when Aziraphale’s golden eyes went from blade sharp to tender with concern. “I’m fine, it’s fine, just not fond of crowds at the moment,” Crowley murmured, giving Aziraphale’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks, angel.”

“Of course, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “Perhaps there is a back way?”

“Sorry, yeah. This way.” She waved them back inside and took the lead down another hall, out a different door into a little garden. “We’ll have to go past the midden,” she said with a shudder.

“Midden?” Aziraphale echoed.

“Like an open rubbish heap?” Crowley asked.

Esk looked over her shoulder at them, smiling to see they were holding hands. _And I thought Agnes was exaggerating. I owe her an apology._ “Well, not any more, but before the school was officially a school, that’s where they dumped everything and I do mean _everything_. There have been… incidents. Like the Librarian’s.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, sharing a look with Crowley. “Worrying.”

Esk led them through one building and out into a weird space between the back of a windowless building and the old brick wall. The area had clearly been cobbled over and contained with surface spells many years previously but it was also clear nothing further had been done since. “I hate it back here. I always feel like I’m being watched.”

“Yeah,” said Crowley, instinctively taking a step forward so they were in the lead and Esk was protected in the middle. “Hey guys,” they said, and suddenly there were rats, a hundred or so of them, uncannily watching them from every nook and cranny and a few places that it seemed unlikely for a rat to be, like repelling down the wall to hover at eye level. “And gals,” Crowley added with a nod to the rat in the lead. “And non binary pals, if there are any. Sorry to intrude. Didn’t know this was home base for you.” There were a chorus of squeaks.

Esk stared at the rats in amazement. They were somehow speaking English.

“You haven’t intruded, Crowley,” said one rat in particular who seemed to be the leader, or at least the speaker for the rest of the group. “We don’t usually show ourselves but we were sent with a message. But we do not know your friends’ names for themselves.”

“Oh right, right, rude of me. Everyone, this is Aziraphale, my best friend. This is Esk, she’s a friend too, lives on campus. These are the Educated Rodents, helped me with a job here and there over the years. This is their, er, did you ever decide on a title?”

“Ah, we decided to use ‘She-Who-Speaks-For-Us-With-Strangers-But-Is-Not-Our-Leader’. We’ve been told that this translates to Princess in your language. But my chosen name is Peaches.” There was something in her expression that said she knew full well that there were underlying meanings to being given that title. “But we are all well acquainted with you, Crowley and don’t require that sort of formality.”

Crowley gave her a small smile and asked, “How is everyone? Been a while...” The assembled rodents made very human nods and shrugs to indicate that things were going pretty well, couldn’t complain really, what with the state of the world today.

“Dangerous Beans is too frail to come outside still, but he would like to speak with all of you, when you have time,” Peaches told them.

“Oh, er, yeah, sure,” agreed Crowley when Aziraphale and Esk nodded. “We’ve meeting with the Librarian and then with Ponder, but we’ve got time after that.”

“One of us will find you later, if you are willing?” They all nodded in agreement. “Then we won’t keep you any longer.” She bowed and they all scampered off, leaving the alley empty except for the three of them.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Esk murmured to herself, taking the lead again. “I really shouldn’t, after all this time. I’ve seen all sorts of nonsense from the wizards, but there are still things that just…” She shook her head, and looked over her shoulder at the alley, grinning to think how Simon and the others would react. Finally they came around to a side door that Esk had to punch in a security code at, waving for them to go inside, and she closed and secured the door after them. “This is the HEM, officially the High Energy Materials building, but it’s also the High Energy Magic building. Those of us more interested in crossing magic with mundane tend to spend our time in here, away from the more... traditional, faculty.”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale upon seeing the banks upon banks of electronics and wires and conduits and little flashing lights of different colors and frequencies. “I’m not sure I should be in here.”

Crowley rested their shoulder reassuringly against Aziraphale’s and explained to Esk, “Upstairs had a firewall on them using modern electronics - anything they touched, it went up in flames. But it’s gone angel, you used my mobile just fine the other day. And the new phone.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale agreed cautiously. “Still, I’d rather not linger too long if you don’t mind.”

“Alright,” said Esk, a little disappointed as she led them away from the project she, Simon and Ponder Stibbons had created together. Out through another door, and she waved them in through into another building and they both jerked to a stop as they crossed the threshold into the library. “What’s wrong?” she asked worriedly, looking around for a sign of trouble and back at them when she didn’t see anything.

Aziraphale and Crowley stared down at the floor and then at each other, their faces startlingly vulnerable as they turned to look as Esk. “It’s holy ground,” said Aziraphale, a smile blossoming on their face. “For you too?” they asked Crowley excitedly, beaming when they nodded. “I didn’t think we’d ever feel that again.”

“It’s, I haven’t felt it in-” Crowley was at a loss for words, blinking hard to keep the unwanted tears from falling. “Makes sense for you.” They cleared their throat and jammed their hands into the pockets of their coat, fidgeting with the tartan handkerchief. “Why for me though?”

“Keeper of _Secrets_ and Storms,” Aziraphale said insistently. “How many secrets have humans revealed with their questioning? Are still revealing?” they said, gesturing to take in the walls of books around them. “And you kept them so they could be passed on. How to hide in plain sight,” murmured Aziraphale, looking around again. “Medicines and maps, stars and constellations...”

Crowley just stared, visibly shaken by what Aziraphale was saying. “I don’t remember how to be that anymore,” they said hoarsely, looking away when tears began to escape. “How can I...”

“It’s enough for us that you’re you,” said Esk quietly, meeting their gaze when they looked her way. “What we need most now are the secrets of magic and how to keep ourselves and our world safe.”

Crowley cleared their throat and nodded, looking away again as they pulled out the handkerchief to use it and quickly put it away again. “All right. That’s, that’s something I can do anyway. Not like the angel, but-”

“Nonsense! Crowley is far better at spontaneous magics than I am,” boasted Aziraphale, smiling when Crowley shook their head. “You are. I do wish you’d take my word for it.”

“Esk? Is that you?” Rincewind came around the corner and jolted to a stop when he saw her standing with Aziraphale and Crowley, who both gave him cool stares. “Ah, uh, glad you made it. The Librarian’s waiting over at the main desk, if you’ll come with me?”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale gestured for Esk and Rincewind to take the lead, falling into step beside Crowley. “You are too modest, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, letting their shoulder brush against Crowley’s.

“You just say that stuff ‘cause you like me,” said Crowley, not quite joking. “Got to say _nice_ things about your friends. ‘Sin the rules.”

“Poppycock,” said Aziraphale, smiling at the sidelong smirk Crowley gave them. “You will note that I have never, for as long as you’ve done so in my company, complimented your driving ability, falsely or otherwise.”

Crowley sputtered but chuckled. “No, true enough.” Another sidelong look. “I, uh, I go too fast for you.”

Aziraphale looked down at the floor and murmured, “Sometimes.”

“Easier to do scary stuff if, uh, if I make like bad stuff never happened,” Crowley said by way of an explanation. “If I don’t think about how it could all go wrong. I’m learning to not jump in head first.”

“Ah, that’s where we differ. Sometimes it feels as though all I do is think about how things have gone wrong.” Aziraphale smiled and looked back up into Crowley’s eyes. “But I believe I’m beginning to appreciate going along for the ride.”

“Really,” drawled Crowley, bumping their shoulders together again.

“Except when you do 90 in central London,” sniffed Aziraphale, eyes crinkling with amusement when Crowley started spluttering again. “That’s just plain recklessness.”

Crowley was interrupted from responding when Rincewind led them into the main rotunda where the massive central desk was situated. The Librarian was sitting behind the desk with a few other assistants doing the menial tasks while he looked through a large metal-sided file box. He nodded respectfully at them and picked up the box with barely any effort and led them into one of the small study-rooms that lined the area.

After closing the door the Librarian gestured for them to sit and then enacted a sigil hidden beneath the light switch, activating a protective shield over the room that would keep unwanted things out, and in. That done, he started signing and Rincewind interpreted out of habit. “We, er, we are grateful you were willing to come and we really are very sorry about the whole Nutter book, L-space manipulation thing.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” said Aziraphale stiffly, seated in one of the chairs at the far end of the table from the wizards, Crowley sprawled in the seat beside them. “And there is no need for interpretation, we can all understand the Librarian, yes?” Crowley and Esk both nodded. “So, from what Crowley and I have gathered so far, the University grounds are regularly the epicenter of a great many near disasters and possible world-ending events. Why is that?”

The three wizards made similarly sheepish grimaces. “It’s the senior faculty,” Esk said. “Set in their ways. Tenure lasts a lifetime, and being wizards means they’ve been around a very long time in some cases.”

[Daft old buggers,] the Librarian signed. [We’ve got to play nice or our funding gets shunted off, so we can’t say anything. They don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves. If nothing else, these omens have weeded out a few of the more reactionary ones, sent them off in permanent retirement to the countryside.]

“But the younger ones can be just as bad, or worse,” said Rincewind glumly. “There’s some, uh, dissent about having you here but Ponder mostly shut it down. If he weren’t the driving force behind most of our grants, they’d have probably started proceedings to get him kicked out for daring to say boo to them.”

“Instead they’re just giving him the cold shoulder,” smirked Esk. “He says it’s the most relaxing time he’s ever had and he’s going to invite you over every day to keep it up.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, Crowley and I were discussing the need to teach everyone, of the witches anyway, more defensive spells and such. Perhaps we could arrange to utilize a room here to teach some of these lessons? I am hoping that a primer on the matter will help those we can’t meet with regularly. We’ve recruited Miss Perspicacia Tick to help with that, but you now that ritual magics aren’t really taught among the witches.”

Esk grimaced. “That’s just tradition by this point I’m afraid. It was practically a miracle you convinced Granny at all,” Esk told Crowley, who smirked and shrugged. “And wizards need to learn spontaneity, and small everyday magics, though I’d say Rincewind and the Librarian are the two most non-stuffy wizards I’ve ever met, after Ponder. And perhaps Prof. Ridcully, but he keeps his cards close to his chest.”

Rincewind smirked but was clearly flattered by her statement, and the Librarian just grinned. [Got to keep on your toes around here,] he said. [Magic books won’t wait for you to finish casting to bite you. As you know,] he said to Esk, who shrugged sheepishly. [Speaking of the magical books, they are starting to show signs of restlessness. That means whatever is going on, it’s getting through the Library’s protections.]

“That is concerning,” Aziraphale agreed. “So what do we have here?”

“These are some of the odder, uh, happenings, from around campus that we’ve collected over the last few months,” said Rincewind as the Librarian began pulling things from the box. First were a collection of candles that had somehow managed to dribble upwards without the wicks burning. There were two old incandescent light bulbs that were glowing brightly with heatless greenish-purple faerie fire. A small collection of watches and clocks that were running backwards and in once case sideways (it ran off the table and hid under Esk’s chair when they weren’t paying attention.)

The Librarian needed help to pull out the biggest thing in the box, which Rincewind did and quickly cleared the box off the table so he could set it down. It was a very ornate display stand, covered with a heavy white silk cloth embroidered with sigils and wards against a great many things. The Librarian pulled it away, revealing crystal ball that had gone so completely lightless to the point that it looked like a hole in the world instead of a physical object.

“There’s more of course, but they’re too big to fit in a box,” said Rincewind, cringing away from the crystal ball. “I hate that thing.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Crowley, not taking their eyes away from it as they slowly rose to their feet, not even daring to blink. “You’ll see why in a second,” Crowley smirked, sidling around the side of the table closer to it.

“Where was it found?” Aziraphale demanded, also not taking their eyes away from it as they wrapped themself in illusion and vanished, shocking the wizards.

“It, uh, it showed up in the Archchancellor’s study,” said Rincewind, his jaw dropping open in shock when Crowley shifted into the form of a gigantic rearing snake and slithered closer to the orb. All three wizards recoiled in horror when the darkness within the orb shifted and contracted, revealing itself to be a ragged pupil surrounded by a sickly reddish green iris.

 _ **You,**_ a grating whining voice said, as the eye spun to focus on Crowley, who opened their mouth to reveal their fangs, weaving hypnotically back and forth as though getting ready to strike. _**We remember you. Where is your friend? It matters not,**_ it laughed, and the wizards backed away as the air began to buzz and the magic in the other items was drawn into the eye as it expanded. _ **The barriers are weakening and we grow stronger by the moment. There will be no defeating us this time. You and your world will be ours to consume!**_

Aziraphale ignited the sword with a thought and stepped out of the illusion, stabbing it without making a single sound. It let out a scream like a steam whistle that seemed to last an eternity before it popped like a soap bubble and vanished, the buzzing going along with it. The stand disintegrated into fine silvery sand that quickly faded into nothingness when Aziraphale waved the flaming sword over it. “That is extremely worrisome. How long has it been in the Library?”

[Almost two weeks,] the Librarian admitted, staring down at his hands and grimacing. [I touched it! How do I cleanse myself? How do we cleanse the Library?! This is terrible!]

“We’ll help,” Crowley said, shifting back into their human seeming and sighing at the Librarian’s beseeching look, awkwardly patting the man’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. They’ve got to bite or sting you to do any damage and me and Aziraphale can- oh, uh, okay I’ll give you a hug,” said Crowley, giving the Librarian a quick hug before waving at Aziraphale. “Hug the angel, they’re good at it.”

Aziraphale chuckled and extinguished the sword, frowning to notice that the surface was etched with silvery marks as though the bronze was flaking away, but smiling and accepting the Librarian’s proffered hug. “We will make sure you and the Library are cleansed before we go anywhere else,” Aziraphale promised, carefully slipping the sword back into the folds of the umbrella. “In fact, we will do it right now.”

They performed a quick cleansing ritual over the Librarian, who shuddered with relief when it was done, and asked worriedly, [Is there a chance of them getting into L-space?]

“Goodness, that’s a terrifying idea,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t believe so, because if they could survive L-space, they would have infiltrated it by now. But there is actually very little known about the Things. They consume magic, but they are not of magic themself. They are a sort of hive mind but they don’t seem to think of anything beside breaking into places that have magic for them to consume. And Crowley and I can destroy them, although we have no idea if it’s permanent or not.”

“They, they can fall apart, at least in their dimension they can,” Esk spoke up. She was standing with her back to the wall, shivering as she stared at where the eye had been. Rincewind came to stand beside her and she smiled tumultuously at him when he patted her on the shoulder. “When I went there to get Simon back… they’d possessed him. They’d made him make a door, I suppose you could call it, into our world, but they couldn’t quite figure out how to use it.” She leaned gratefully into the Librarian when he put a consoling arm around her.

“Ah, that would be when the leech was embedded,” Aziraphale said. “Very curious. I never saw them fall apart, did you?”

Crowley shook their head. “No, but gravity does weird things to non-earthy beings. Maybe it helped them keep themselves together. How’d you escape?” they asked her.

“Granny and Archchancellor Cutangle retrieved the staff I’d inherited, a wizard’s staff and I somehow summoned it there. They were afraid of it. It has carvings, here, I can-” She focused on her hands for a moment and then the wooden staff was in her hands. “You can touch it if you like. We don’t really use it.”

“We?” Aziraphale asked. They all crowded around Esk and the staff, which she held horizontally so that they could look at the carvings.

“Oh, er, I shared it with Simon, when we were there. He wanted to use the magic stored in the staff to attack them but I knew that wasn’t right. They were much more afraid of us _not_ using the magic.”

“That’s probably what saved him,” said Crowley, instinctively knowing the purpose of the carvings if not their specific meanings. It wasn’t so much that the carvings were a language as distinct marks, sigils, signs, runes; of protection, of grounding, of hiding, of defense, added to the staff over the course of centuries, maybe millennia. “And you too.”

“This isn’t at all like a standard wizard’s staff,” said Aziraphale, looking at it with wide-eyed wonder. “This is meant almost purely for protection of the one, or ones, who are attuned to it. This would have been used to-” They gasped in sudden memory and looked at Crowley. “You made it. We enchanted it, together.”

“We wot?” They started to shake their head but the words triggered a memory, a very old memory, of using a bunch of branches from a lightning-struck tree to make rods to protect an encampment of refugees against, well, everything they could. “Oh. They’ve changed this one a bit since then.”

“Wait, what, what was it originally for?” Esk asked.

“It protected a camp of refugees,” Crowley answered. “Fleeing, uh...” They looked at Aziraphale, who was staring into a very long time ago. “Fleeing for their lives.”

“We tried to warn the people in the valley, that there was a storm that would cause a flood,” Aziraphale said lowly, looking up from the staff. “It happens a lot more frequently than people realize. This particular flood was… singled out, to send a message. Most of them didn’t believe us.”

“Some did. Couldn’t reveal ourselves though, couldn’t make everyone believe. Against the rules,” scorned Crowley. “They just had to make a _point_ in those days.”

“We helped them flee up through the mountains.” Aziraphale shook their head, setting aside the hazy memories for the time being. “Keeping the staff at full power likely kept the Things from being able repossess Simon. And because it was yours, you were already protected from their attacks.”

“But, it’s magic,” said Rincewind. “Shouldn’t they have, uh, devoured it?”

“But it’s not just magic,” Esk realized. “It’s a relic, of your powers, isn’t it?” she asked, staring at the staff with new eyes when they nodded. “They’d have been destroyed if they’d tried to get to the magic stored inside of it.”

“Yeah. And it’s probably what kept Simon going for so long,” Crowley said. “It couldn’t destroy the leech without harming him too, but it slowed it way down.”

“Is it done then?” she asked, “Now that Simon’s free?” It was almost a plea but she wasn’t surprised when they shook their heads.

“I wish it was,” said Aziraphale. “But this incursion is far beyond just Simon. They’ve found other ways to get into this world. Easier ways. And...” Aziraphale glanced back down at the umbrella and the angel’s sword hidden within. “I’m beginning to believe it’s Heaven’s fault.”

[How?] the Librarian asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Aziraphale admitted. “They should have been keeping the Things at bay from the borders of heaven and hell, only we’ve been told that they are not. That they have been allowing the Things to gain strength by consuming the magical creatures that usually dwell on the edges of that plane.”

They all jumped when someone pounded on the door. “Stand forth!” someone bellowed. “Betrayers of the 8 Noble Orders of Wizardry! Come out and face your rightful judgment!”

The voice was somewhat muffled by virtue of being in front of the wrong door.

Rincewind dropped his head into his hands with a groan while the Librarian made a very rude gesture and Esk sighed heavily and put away the staff. “Treatle. If I find out who tattled to Treatle, I will feed them their own hat, without sauce,” Esk promised in a voice like a blade made of ice.

“Treatle, Treatle, why do I know that name?” Aziraphale mumbled, staring off into space as they tried to recall. “What does he look like?”

“Tall, thin, pale as a ghost, looks like he stood model for the wizard that ended up on every tee shirt and black-light poster since 1980,” said Rincewind bitterly. “He’s head of the order of the Ancient and Truly Original Brothers of the Silver Star and he’s trying to get in line for the Archchancellor-ship.”

“Ohh, _him_ ,” said Aziraphale. The smile that graced their face was growing in wickedness with each passing moment and they turned to Crowley, who grinned in anticipation. “I have an idea.”

**∞**

The assembled wizards, primarily from the tenured and emeritus ranks and dressed in their finest formal robes and hats, watched the door with smug assurance. When the silence dragged on they began nodding and harrumphing as Professor Treatle raised his staff to knock on the door again, only for it to be yanked open, a balding slightly portly middle-aged white man standing in the opening and glowering out at them.

“What are you going on about?” he demanded. “We’re in the middle of researching a book!” His gaze sharpened when he noticed their unusual attire and the beginnings of a smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth hidden beneath a short grizzled white beard. “There a costume party going on somewhere?”

“We, er… room 18?”

The man flipped up the ‘Reserved - Do Not Disturb’ sign taped to the door, revealing the antique brass numerals beneath. Room 17. “No.”

The wizards sheepishly mumbled excuses and pardons and the man watched them curiously as they shuffled off to the next room over, only finally closing the door with a laugh when Treatle gave him a hard look and made a shooing motion. Deflated but not defeated, Treatle didn’t even get a chance to raise his staff when the Librarian opened the door and stepped out, Esk and Rincewind flanking him. “Ah, oh, Librarian, we, er, where are the interlopers?” Treatle demanded, trying to look around them into the room.

“Who?” asked Rincewind, doing his best to seem solicitous. “Sorry, Professor, were you looking for us? We do have it on the calendar that we’d be busy this morning...”

“We have it on good authority that you are _all_ violating the founding tenants of this fine and moral institution by _trucking_ with beings from the _demimonde_!” Treatle pronounced triumphantly. He was the sort to pepper in words from other languages because he thought it made him seem smart.

One of the very elderly senior wizards gasped and leaned towards his neighbor and asked in what he probably thought was a whisper, “Did he say _all of them_ , were _fuc_ -”

“NO,” bellowed his equally ancient neighbor while the other wizards desperately looked at anything but each other or the smirking trio in front of them. “Don’t be daft, man. I’m sure it was only one at a time.”

“ _Truck-_ ing, _Truh_ \- like trouble,” snarled Treatle, glowering at the trio and pointedly ignoring the milling wizards behind him. “Making bargains with demons on University grounds,” he accused in a low hiss the other wizards couldn’t hear. “That’s cause for removal from all positions, current and emeritus, and complete expulsion from the University rolls,” Treatle sneered at Esk. “What do you say to that, missy?”

Esk went pale with anger, then worry and the Librarian looked ready to punch Treatle in his smug little face when Aziraphale and Crowley dropped the illusions hiding them, appearing in the space between the trio and the gathered wizards. They were both about nine feet tall and glowing, dressed in billowing robes that suggested halos and unfurling wings, carrying aloft blazing lanterns, looking like they had just stepped off of an illuminated manuscript. Specifically the title page of an illuminated French manuscript on bargaining with ‘demigods from the netherworld’ that Treatle had bought from Aziraphale about two months earlier.

One look at them and Treatle’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over backwards into his fellows, who accidentally broke his fall. They didn’t understand his reaction at all, because all they saw were two seemingly middle-aged people (making them look quite young compared to the generally elderly wizards) of indeterminate gender stepping out from behind Esk and Rincewind.

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, primly adjusting their waistcoat and tucking the umbrella’s handle securely into the corner of their elbow. “I say, is he injured? Not prone to fainting is he?”

“Perhaps it’s his spleen,” drawled Crowley, making Rincewind cough to cover up his snorted laugh. “Can be an issue at his age.”

“Hmm,” said Aziraphale with a frown, struggling to not laugh. “Ahem, it seems this gentleman is operating under a grave misconception about the nature of my friend and I, as well as the purpose of our visit. We’re here merely to consult about the ominous signs, shall we say, that have been plaguing your lovely campus.” They frowned down at the waking form of Professor Treatle on the floor. “And we certainly are not here to _truck_ anyone. I am quite curious where that sort of slanderous accusation might have originated from.”

“Is an odd coincidence, isn’t it,” Crowley agreed, standing hipshot, hands in their coat pockets to give the appearance of relaxed casualness, but they were coiled to strike, spells half formed in their mind and ready to be spoken. They canted their head to watch as Treatle woke up with a gasp and looked around for the vanished visions. “Know a lot about _trucking_ yourself, do you, Professor? Isn’t that against the rules?”

Treatle glared at Crowley, who he saw as another upstart woman of the same sort at Esk. “I don’t like your tone of voice, young lady,” he scolded as he shuffled and scrambled upright with the help of the more stalwart of his followers. “That’s bordering on slander, that is.”

“Professor Treatle, you just announced to the entire library that you were accusing the Head Librarian, his primary assistant and Dr. Ponder Stibbon’s protégées of the same exact thing,” said Aziraphale mildly. “Which was, in all honesty, a very poorly thought out prank on your part.”

“What? This isn’t a prank!” Treatle snapped, rounding on Aziraphale and deflating when he recognized Aziraphale and could tell from the steely glint in their eye they knew exactly who he was in turn. “Oh.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale stared disdainfully at the gathering of wizards and they all slouched and shuffled about as though they were naughty school boys who’d gotten caught pulling a nasty prank. Lowly, Aziraphale demanded, “So who exactly was telling you that we were demons, Professor? Patently untrue of course, but this is the second time in recent memory I’ve had that epithet tossed in my direction in a derogatory manner and frankly I find it hard to believe it’s a coincidence.”

“Oh, I, uh, I can’t reveal my sources, I mean, I don’t know who it was! Anonymous letter sent to my office. Clearly pulling a prank on all of us,” said Treatle hurriedly, backing away when Crowley gave him a small knowing and terribly _sharp_ smile. “Terrible, what the students will get up to these days. Glad we got that all sorted out. Come along gentlemen, I’m sure the kitchens can get us something to tide us over until supper while we figure out who the real miscreants were behind this, er, vile prank.”

“Does that mean we’re not going to get a go?” the first hard-of-hearing wizard demanded, clearly disappointed and annoyed with Treatle, drawing everyone’s horrified eye as he continued. “What was the point of getting all done up then if we’re not going to meet them? Not even negotiate for a dance or two?”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Treatle demanded. “They aren’t interested in _dancing!_ Uh, er, not that there are any of what you’re talking about or people falsely accused of being that sort anywhere on the premises,” he finished hurriedly, trying to shoo the suddenly recalcitrant wizards from the area when he noticed they had gathered quite a few interested observers, including the writer and his tall lanky shaggy-haired friend from room 17. “Completely against the rules and no one here is breaking those rules, whatsoever.”

“Against the rules for them sorts to be brought on campus by the lower faculty, but those sorts of rules don’t apply to us. Never have,” protested the second equally-deaf wizard.

“Did a lot of _trucking_ with demons over the years, have you?” Crowley drawled loudly.

“Demons? Who said anything about demons?” the first wizard squawked. “We thought he meant the, the ladies of negotiable affection, from the whosit, demimonde!” Unsurprisingly, most of the other elderly wizards nodded in agreement, and Treatle slapped a hand over his face and flounced off, leaving the confused gathering of old wizards to their own devices.

After a heavy put-upon sigh, Rincewind took it upon himself to herd them back to the great hall to retire to the emeritus lounge while the Librarian and Esk returned to the room with Aziraphale and Crowley. “That went better than I expected,” said Aziraphale, unable to contain their amusement.

“These people,” said Esk, dropping into a chair and resting her head in her hands. “I mean, is it really any wonder Granny looks down her nose at them?”

“Not if those are the sorts she’s had to deal with before,” agreed Aziraphale. “Well, that’s settled for now. Let’s get the library all sorted out, shall we?” they said to the Librarian.

[Yes, please.]

Aziraphale and Crowley followed him and Esk into the upper rotunda of the library to enact a much more involved cleansing over the building, away from the busy lower floors. Crowley was looking around the area and then looked up, losing their breath for a moment when they saw the frieze painted beneath the glass of the skylight. “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale followed their gaze upward, putting their hand on Crowley’s arm when they saw the dusky rainbow-hued dragon guarding the sunset, a storm gathering on the horizon behind them. And opposite, a rampant golden gryphon stood over a sword and a scroll, guarding the sunrise. To the north was an 8-pointed compass-rose and to the south, was a tree bearing red fruit. “That, it can’t be coincidence. Can it?”

Esk was staring up as well, her face in thoughtful lines. “Huh, it never even occurred to me… and I’ve spent hours up here, staring at the mural. It’s a reproduction, of the one in the Tower of Art.”

“How old is this one?” Crowley asked.

“Oh it’s only a few centuries old,” said Rincewind, leaning tiredly on the railing overlooking the central desk. “We’re getting really drunk later, yes?” he asked wearily. “Because I really want to forget the last twenty minutes of my life… They kept asking about the, uh, ladies.”

“Extremely pished was how Crowley put it,” Aziraphale assured him. “So, er, how old is the original?”

“Oh, er, predates London and Roman conquest I think. Funny really, everything else got sacked but they left the tower alone, like they didn’t even see it,” said Rincewind, finally noticing their expressions had gone funny. “What? What’d I say?”

“Remember what I told you?” Esk said quietly, looking pointedly up at the frieze when Rincewind nodded, smiling when he snapped his attention back down to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“Right,” said Crowley, dragging their eyes away from the frieze. “So, cleansing? Or blessing?”

“I think,” said Aziraphale, also finally looking away, “that we should do a cleansing blessing. And then a few divinations.”

Crowley nodded in agreement. “You lot might want to do something to hide this,” they smirked, rubbing their hands together before holding them out to Aziraphale, their right hand palm down, left hand palm up. “Ready when you are, angel.”

Aziraphale copied their action, both of them silently settling into a grounded stance and allowing the power of the sanctity of the library to infuse them while the three wizards scrambled to figure out how to hide what they were going to do. Finally Esk nodded and they began to speak their cleansing blessings into being. Crowley’s hissing sibilants and Aziraphale’s ringing tones meshed and flowed outwards along with the coronal aurora suffused with golden radiance, infusing every nook and cranny of the building and even slightly beyond.

“That was cleverly done,” Aziraphale beamed at the three wizards. “Making it look like Rincewind was doing something with the lights.”

“We do the Christmas panto every year,” Rincewind said with a shrug. “I don’t have much magic, but I can sure play a distraction.”

[And run away,] signed the Librarian playfully. [Top notch runner, he is.]

“Well, if you had my luck and looked like me, you would be too,” Rincewind retorted with a grin.

“Nothing wrong with running away,” said Aziraphale, finding a small empty study desk nearby. “Crowley, perhaps you could read the cards first? You were having better luck with them than I was last night.”

Crowley shrugged and pulled out a very old deck of cards from one of their many pockets. They sat and shuffled the deck before setting it down in the middle of the table. It wasn’t like any deck the wizards had seen before, only some of the imagery proving vaguely familiar. “Who’s going to cut?” they asked, looking between the three wizards. The two younger ones immediately looked to the Librarian who chuckled and shrugged. “Into thirds,” Crowley said, accepting the three uneven piles of cards and beginning to lay them out in a specific pattern, shaking their head as they started turning the cards over.

“We had this happen last night too,” said Aziraphale, frowning down at the cards. The first card was a warning of danger, and the second one of a youth led astray, then a magic user going bad, then a tower, falling, and then death. “No matter what deck we used, the meanings were along these lines. Of course death generally doesn’t mean actual death, but of great change-”

“But death’s a pretty damn big change,” said Crowley, scowling down at the cards before scooping them up and shuffling them again. “This time you cut, angel. We were just reading for ourselves last night. Maybe we’ll get something different reading for each other.”

“I suppose it’s worth a try.” Aziraphale cut the deck into three almost even piles. “Oh, that’s just ridiculous,” they scolded Crowley when the first card they turned over was a winged being that rather resembled Aziraphale, carrying a flaming torch. “Queen of Brands, or Swords in later decks.”

“Hey, you picked it, not me,” Crowley retorted, giving Aziraphale a sardonic look when the next card proved to be a winged being that had an uncanny resemblance to Crowley, wielding a staff with a snake twined around it. “Queen of Staffs. No, I didn’t stack the deck. Look.” They put the cards down in the middle of the table. “You pick the next card.”

Aziraphale gave them a disbelieving smile and pulled the top card, the smile slipping when they looked at it. They knew Crowley wasn’t lying, but part of them really wished the former demon was. They set the card down on the table, face up. “Justice.” It was a woman wearing a crown, a sword in her right hand and a balance in her left.

Crowley frowned down at the cards, shoving their chair back from the table and looked to Esk. “You pick the next one, any damn card. Something weird is going on.”

Esk nodded and closed her eyes and spread the stack with her palm, stabbing her finger down at random. She opened her eyes and pulled the card, letting out a shocked laugh. It was a rich knight dressed in blue fighting with a dark dragon, but the card was drawn so that the dragon was the one who was triumphant. It was labeled Nemesis.

The Librarian pulled the next card from the spread out deck without prompting, eyes going wide as he set it down. Strength. A woman calmly and gently holding open the jaws of a lion.

Rincewind snagged a card and slapped it down, swearing under his breath. “The Star.” A woman pouring out a serpentine river into the distance, a large bright 8-pointed star over her head surrounded by the night sky.

Aziraphale reached for another card and gently set it down on the table. It was a tree covered in red fruit, with the silhouette of two people holding hands at the base. “The Garden.” Everyone looked up at the frieze overhead. Aziraphale looked to Crowley and offered them a faint smile. “One last card? For curiosity’s sake?”

Crowley frowned but covered their eyes with one hand and picked a card with the other, looking when Aziraphale laughed. “For fuck’s sake.” Crowley let out a reluctant laugh of their own. “The world.” They picked up the card, shaking their head. It was a globe circled by a winged serpent biting its tail, with the heads of an eagle, a lion, a bull, and an angel in the four corners. “Well, I think that’s enough of that.”

“Yes, perhaps the library is a little too closely tied to us,” suggested Aziraphale, watching Esk absently pick up another card, the two wizards looking over her shoulder as she did so. Aziraphale gave them all a curious look when she bit her lips and quickly put the card back down, face down and the wizards looked away. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, clearly fighting to school her expression but a smile was beginning to break through. “Nothing wrong at all,” she assured them, turning away when Crowley gave her a suspicious look and reached for the card. “I’m going to go check on Simon, but I’ll meet you all at them HEM later.”

[Need to check the main desk,] signed the Librarian, hurrying after Rincewind who had a wide lead on him and was pulling ahead.

Crowley took one look at the card and quickly began picking up all the cards before Aziraphale could get a look at it. “Yeah, let’s try something else in a different area,” they suggested, shoving themself up and the cards into their pocket a little too hastily, not noticing when one slipped out to tumble to a rest against Aziraphale’s shoe. Crowley began sauntering towards the stairs down to the main desk where the Librarian and Rincewind were having a silent, grinning conversation.

“Well, that was interesting,” said Aziraphale to themself, bending to retrieve the card, giving it a glance and then a second much closer look. “Oh... Ooh! Hmm.” Schooling their expression with greater success than Esk had, they moved to catch up with Crowley. “What should we try next do you think?” they asked.

Crowley jumped a little, startled out of their spiraling thoughts. “Oh, er, pendulum maybe? Some luck with runes last night, we could try them again.”

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally and held out the card, face up, watching the former demon’s expression closely to test their hypothesis. “This fell out of your pocket.” The reformed angel couldn’t help but feel a little thrill to see the blush stain their best friend’s cheeks.

“Oh, er, careless of me,” Crowley said, taking the card and gently slipping it into the middle of the deck. “So… Er. That reading, huh? Pretty weird, right? Probably just, uh, just interference you think?”

“I’m not so sure,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully, watching Crowley sidelong. “Too spot on to be coincidence. Too telling to be random. And that last card.”

“Last card?” Crowley echoed in a croak. They cleared their throat. “The world?”

“Hmm. Just seems like it would be the height of foolishness to dismiss the message we’ve been given,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully. “Of course, sometimes things do just happen,” they said lightly. “Like the card that fell from your pocket.”

Crowley felt their cheeks getting hot, but realized that there was a blush on Aziraphale’s cheeks too, no matter how blasé they sounded. “The lovers?” Crowley murmured.

“A fluke, obviously.” Aziraphale looked down at the main desk and smiled to themself to see the Librarian and Rincewind trying to hide that they had been watching the pair of them meandering towards the stairs.

“Oh, right. Obviously,” said Crowley reluctantly, feeling quite torn. On one hand, certainly safer to agree. On the other...

“Perhaps the cards were picking up what was on Esk’s mind when she chose it.”

“That’s not how the cards work for us, you know that…” When Aziraphale turned to look at them, Crowley realized what they’d let slip. “If... that was the card she picked?”

Aziraphale gave them a chiding look at the sad attempt at evasion. “Did you think I’d be offended?” Aziraphale asked lightly. “By a drawing of humans embracing and kissing?” They darted a look in Crowley’s direction. “Or because they look vaguely like us?”

“I, er, I mean… She, er, we did spend a lot of time around the artist when she was designing the deck. I, uh, I’d forgotten how much she used us for inspiration,” Crowley admitted. “But, uh, you know, an _angel_ and a _demon_ … being, er, corporeally, you know, _intimate_. Wasn’t sure how you’d react. Didn’t want to upset you,” they said, knowing they were babbling to fill the silence but unable to stop themself. “Not, er, not that _I’m_ upset by it, ‘course, after all we-” They skidded that thought to a halt and finished instead with, “but, yeah, uh, prob’ly against the rules, usss being depicted that way.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale after a few false starts, their thoughts spiraling around, _Are they insinuating what I infer they are implying?_ They rubbed their thumb anxiously over the bright swirl of amber and orange and purple in the ring and admitted, “I... I’m glad then, that I’m no longer an angel. And that you’re no longer a demon.” Aziraphale’s cool was rapidly evaporating at the direction the conversation was going. At the direction they were making the conversation go. “And I could never be upset, being depicted so, so, er, so beautifully, with… with you,” they ended in a breathless whisper. They turned to look at Crowley then and gave them a small shy smile to see the stunned expression on their face.

“Oh, good, yeah, that’s, I, er, I’m glad to hear it,” said Crowley, relieved to know that they couldn't _actually_ burst into flames from blushing, no matter how much it felt otherwise. Their heart wouldn't _actually_ leap from their chest, though it seemed to be trying. _That. Was. A. **Yes.**_

They were both torn between relief and regret when Rincewind called out to them and the Librarian waved for them to come down, and the moment was lost.

 _Not the time or place,_ Crowley reminded themself. _Barely over a week. Don’t ruin it! Don't rush it!_

Aziraphale darted a look at Crowley, looking away when their eyes met for a moment. _I can’t believe I did that! I can’t believe I said that! Oh, my… someone, what was I thinking?! What if they figure out how I feel? I don’t want to ruin this!_ Aziraphale almost jumped when they felt the back Crowley’s hand tentatively brush against theirs and the reformed angel let out the breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding as they held hands with their best friend. Giving Crowley another sidelong look they could see the happiness on Crowley’s face and Aziraphale couldn’t regret putting that there, not knowing that they were wearing the same small happy smile themself.


	29. Hem and Haw and Hex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Arrangement is made with a handful of wizards. Hex delivers a cryptic message, possibly from the other Hex. Maurice and the Educated Rodents show up, as does Gaspode.

Standing by the desk with the Librarian and Rincewind was another white man with silvery hair and a neatly trimmed beard, looking like the hearty sort of fellow you’d see on the cover of a magazine about hunting. His eyes were bright with interest as they approached the desk and swirls of magic appeared around him to their vision when they were within range.

“You must be the friends young Esk was telling me about.” His voice matched his appearance for heartiness and he offered his hand to Aziraphale with a smile. “Professor Mustrum Ridcully, at your service. Dr. A. Z. Fell?”

Aziraphale was slightly taken aback by Ridcully knowing that. “Yes, but you may call me Aziraphale.”

“An honor. And Mx. A. J. Crowley?” Ridcully said, offering their hand to Crowley.

“Yup. Crowley’s fine,” they said, shaking his hand, relieved that the man didn’t turn it into a hand-breaking contest. “Esk tell you that?”

“She did. Brilliant gel. You’ve met Simon?” he asked conversationally, tucking his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels.

“We have. You’re aware of why we’re here?” Aziraphale asked, still not sure if they liked the man. He was putting on a jolly front, but there was far more hidden beneath the surface.

“I am, I am indeed. I’ve had a few experiences of late that would send a lesser person scurrying, but I believe in the University far too greatly to abandon it to the whims of fate,” he announced, clearly putting on a show for the students and faculty watching them curiously.

Crowley leaned on the counter, giving the other two a knowing smirk and watching as Ridcully continued to pontificate to Aziraphale, who nodded along politely. “When’s the election then?” they asked quietly.

“Shortlist on Winter Solstice,” Rincewind answered. “Which is as good as done then, since there’s always a clear favorite. Official ceremony isn’t until Summer Solstice.”

The Librarian gave Crowley a worried look and surreptitiously signed, [He’s playing for the old farts. He’s the best option, and a good choice.]

“We need strong leaders, who aren’t afraid to do what needs to be done for the greater good of the school and those who depend on it,” Ridcully finished.

Crowley nodded in understanding to the wizards and sauntered back over to Aziraphale and Ridcully and asked, “Where’s a good spot for looking for answers?”

“Quiet answers or noisy?” Ridcully asked in response, nodding at a few of the other faculty as they walked past. “If you don’t mind noise, there’s always the Great Hall. Could probably set off a light show in there and no one would bat an eye,” he said with a faint smile and a glance up at the skylight. “For quiet I would suggest the HEM. Dr. Ponder Stibbons keeps his students in order, mostly because they know that it would be the end of them if they mucked about. Exceedingly brilliant about that sort of thing, Ponder. Good lad.”

“Speaking of,” said Aziraphale. “We are expected to meet with him. Where-”

“The HEM,” Rincewind and Ridcully immediately answered, and the Librarian grinned and nodded in agreement.

“I think he sleeps there,” said Rincewind.

[I know he does,] signed the Librarian. [Most of his students do too, at least on occasion.]

“Ah.” Aziraphale sighed, twisting Crowley’s ring around on their finger at the idea of being surrounded by all that fragile technology. “I suppose we’d best go then.”

“The back way,” said Crowley, shoulders hunched at the idea of being swamped with the wave of sensations again. “Rather avoid the crowd if possible.”

The wizards all nodded and led them out of the Library and back into the HEM. Ridcully took the lead inside the building, bringing them into the main area where Ponder was currently reviewing documentation for a project, and deflecting questions from students. When he spotted Ridcully, he whispered an order to the students, who scattered. “Professor Ridcully, what, oh, hi Rincewind, Librarian. Oh, hello again,” he said, clearly flustered to have Aziraphale and Crowley there. “I, we haven’t met-”

“Crowley,” they said, shaking the man’s hand. “We need a quiet place to do some divinations and Professor Ridcully suggested your building.”

“Oh, well, there are a few unused offices, well, more like closets really, if you need privacy but mostly we all just congregate together.” Ponder waved to the big open area peppered with computers of various sorts, a few areas sectioned off with cardboard boxes and other improvised barriers. “There’s labs upstairs but they’re clean rooms and not open for outside use. There’s the dormitories but they have dampeners so I’m not sure... Is this okay?”

Crowley looked to Aziraphale who was looking around with concern, twisting their hands and the ring, worry clear in their face. Putting themself squarely between Aziraphale and the rest of the room and gently resting their hand over Aziraphale’s, they murmured, “We don’t have to do this today.”

“No, I, no,” said Aziraphale, holding onto Crowley’s hand like a lifeline and closing their eyes to take a few calming breaths. “I will not let them dictate what I do and where I go. Not anymore.” They opened their eyes and smiled at the concerned wizards. “Thank you, Ponder, this will work just fine. Shall we try the pendulums first?”

Crowley gave their hand a gentle squeeze before letting go to pull out a blackened pendulum that matched their compass. “Lucky that Eunice had these in stock, eh?”

Aziraphale ran the chain of their gilded bronze pendulum through their fingers, smiling at Crowley’s teasing smirk. “Considering how well acquainted she is with Agnes, I highly doubt luck factored into it.” They pulled out the black compass and clicked it open, orienting themself to face east. “Ready when you are.” Crowley stood with their back to Aziraphale’s and they both held out their arms and let the pendulums still. “Salutations, benign spirits and kindly souls, we seek guidance, oh, that’s not good.” Both pendulums had immediately started to swing erratically and they reached out to still them again.

“We’d like to ask you questions. Spin right for yes, left for no, random for maybe. Spin right if you’re willing,” said Crowley, and they both quickly spun right.

“I’ve never seen them work so well,” said Ponder, fascinated.

“It’s a knack,” said Crowley. “Is the big danger coming before winter?”

There was a little hesitant back and forth before they both finally swung left. “So there is a lesser danger coming before winter- oh, that’s very clearly a yes, thank you,” said Aziraphale, reaching out to still their pendulum again.

“Considering the nature of some of the faculty and the works they are pursuing,” said Ridcully, “that is unfortunately a given.”

Rincewind snorted and rolled his eyes. “That’s an understatement.”

“They don’t seem to think it’s an internal threat,” said Aziraphale when their pendulum began spinning left again. “Oh, of course.” They stilled it and asked knowingly, “The threat is against us?” nodding when it immediately began spinning right. “Thank you.”

“Big threat before spring?” Crowley nodded when the pendulums moved erratically and faintly. “Too far out to tell for sure?” A clear yes. “Thanks.”

“Is the danger instigated by a human?” asked Aziraphale. A hesitant yes. “Interesting.”

“Is it a witch?” No. “A wizard?” No. “A magic user?” Maybe. “A human who is a sort of magic user who isn’t a witch or wizard?” Crowley shook their head and stilled their faintly swinging yes pendulum and turned to look at Aziraphale’s, which was answering the same way. “What does that even mean?”

The Librarian coughed to get their attention, a worried frown drawing his thick brows together as he spelled out, [S-o-u-r-c-e-r-e-r?]

“Sour- Do you mean sorcerer?” asked Aziraphale.

The Librarian shook his head and explained, [A sourcerer is a source of magic, so not really a magic _user_. They are typically born to a long line of magic users, seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son sort of thing.]

“Oh,” said Ridcully, when Rincewind finished interpreting, his expression grim. “They usually precipitate a war among magic users-”

“Usually just wizards,” corrected Rincewind sardonically. “The witches know better.”

“I’ve never heard of any of this,” Ponder protested. “Why is there-”

“Because if the sourcerer is on your side, then you have a limitless source of magic. And on your side could just mean in your vicinity. They fill the world around them with magic.”

“Which allows Things to come through,” said Crowley with a worried look to Aziraphale, who nodded. “So there’s a sourcerer nearby.”

“I must assume they come into their power the usual way,” said Aziraphale.

The Librarian nodded. [Puberty. Like it’s not bad enough already.]

Crowley was shaking their head, part confusion, part denial. “It doesn’t work that way-”

“Perhaps there is more to the genetics than we’ve given credit,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully. “Perhaps certain hereditary traits allow the soul to access whatever it is that enables them to manipulate arcane energies. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, the offspring of those magic users who survived long enough to have that many children have inherited a physical resistance to the destructive properties of arcane energies.”

“Or humans just believed it into existence,” said Crowley. “Like the idea that some numbers are more _magick_ than others. If it’s in the seventh kid, then it’s in one to six too.”

“Fair enough.” Aziraphale let out a sigh and said to the room at large, “Thank you spirits and souls, for your assistance. We hope to prevent the events the omens are warning of, and are grateful for your help in this endeavor. Return to your rest with our gratitude.”

The wizards all stood in silence for a moment and then let out the breaths they’d been holding in relief when nothing responded that they could sense. “You know, we have a project going that you might be interested in, but we should wait until Esk and Simon join us, it’s as much their brain-child as mine really,” said Ponder. “You’ve met Simon?”

“Yeah.” :Should we tell them? Since they keep asking?: Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who shrugged. “You know what happened to them about eight years ago?”

Ponder’s smile slid away, and Ridcully bowed his head and they both nodded. “That was the end of Cutangle’s career,” said Ridcully. “Letting the senior faculty get away with driving them both that way, ignoring all the warning signs… Ponder was just a graduate student. I was off taking care of my parent’s estates because my father had fallen ill.” He cleared his throat and shook off the memories. “No one would explain how they survived, but there are rumors..?”

Another look between them before Aziraphale answered. “Esk has a, er… relic, I suppose. A staff she inherited. It made her resistant to the Thing’s power, and she shared it with Simon, which allowed them to escape. But there was a Thing, leeching power from him, killing him slowly as it grew. Perhaps a first foray into invading our world.”

“Our?” echoed Ridcully, making a face when he realize he’d blurted it out loud. “I, uh-”

“Yeah, _oursss_ ,” Crowley hissed. “We died because we chose to save this ridiculous planet, so I’d say that makes it ours as much as yours.”

“Died?” Ponder said, clearly upset by the notion. “Is that the reason for the last part of the Arrangement?”

Crowley shrugged and looked away. “The witches came up with the terms on their own,” said Aziraphale. “You’ll have to ask them for their reasoning. Which you can do this Sunday, at a pub called Biers. There are other magic users who are invested in protecting _our_ world, and they’d like to meet you on neutral ground.”

“We know Biers,” said Rincewind, gesturing to include the Librarian. “Best banana daiquiris we’ve ever had.”

“Oh, that sounds delightful,” said Aziraphale. “The food was wonderful too-”

“Why’d you end up agreeing with the witches first?” Ridcully asked, the jolly facade beginning to slip a little. “When we were right here?”

“Because I knew them,” said Aziraphale coldly, piercing him with a stare. “We do not know you, except through Esk. And there was also an unfortunate incident,” they said with a pointed look at the Librarian and Rincewind, who looked away sheepishly, “that did not beget a kindly outlook towards your ilk. And I must say, the school’s reputation has preceded you.”

“Oh, well, fair enough, point taken,” said Ridcully.

“Hey, where is everyone?” Simon wheeled into view with Esk beside him, a goofy smile on his face. “There you are. Oh, Professor, wasn’t sure you’d come. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you as well, Simon,” said Ridcully, giving him a smile. “And Esk, I saw your most recent paper, excellent work as always. A true credit to the University.”

She smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Thanks, Professor. Simon decided he had to be here with us. He’s feeling… very good.”

“I _am_ ,” he grinned, clearly still drunk. “Besides, I want to see what you think of our brain-child. Poured a lot of heart an’ soul into it. Little blood too, act’ally.”

“So what’s this ‘brain-child’?” asked Crowley. “A computer of some sort, yeah?”

“Oh, yes and no,” said Simon, grinning. “C’mon, you’ll see. It’s downstairs. Well, down elevator,” he laughed, laughing more when Esk let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes. “Hey, I don’t drunk very often, let me enjoy being drink. ...Wait.”

“Yes dear,” she said, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder. “We’ll just let you go first, hmm? I’m sure my foot will recover in no time.”

He chortled at her teasing and steered the chair towards the main entrance to the building, where there was an elevator, the others trailing along behind him, including a handful of the students. Simon wasn’t the only one excited as they exited the elevator, he just wasn’t able or bothering to hide it as much as the others were.

“Here it is!” He waved at what, at first glance, looked like a mountain of just random junk. There was an ant colony, and a sheep skull with massive curling horns, a large brass listening horn and an hourglass on a pair of cog-driven manikin arms that looked like they had been salvaged from a Victorian automaton. Further inspection proved that the junk wasn’t just junk, but extremely magical junk somehow interwoven with technologies from a dozen different eras.

There was an array of eight monitors facing towards them, no two from the same era or manufacturer. Most of them were displaying text scrolling by as programs were being compiled or run in the background, but the lower center monitor, the largest and most modern of them all, was showing a plain desktop with the University logo in the upper right corner, an array of icons beneath it and a smaller white window open in the center with a blinking black cursor.

Simon turned his chair to face them. “This is Hex! We just upgraded it to be able to hear our commands instead of having to type them in. Hex, say hello to Aziraphale and Crowley!”

The cursor blinked and then slowly, in a font large enough to be seen from across the room, typed out, +++ Hello Azira Fell ... Hello Crawly +++

Simon frowned with concern at their stunned expressions. “Sorry about the spelling-”

Aziraphale shook their head and asked softly, “How did you come to name it Hex?”

“Oh, er, I don’t remember actually,” he said, looking towards Ponder and Esk, who were both frowning as they tried to recall. “Just seemed to fit, y’know, hex like spell an’ hex like hexadecimal since it’s got both going on?”

“Any chance there’s relics in that mess?” Crowley asked the wizards, gesturing to the pile behind the monitors. They all gave it and each other concerned looks and Crowley murmured to Aziraphale, “You always said Hex had ways of doing things you couldn’t figure out.”

“That is true,” murmured Aziraphale in return, staring at the waiting cursor and their curiously misspelled names. “Are you… a Helpful Ethereal Xyloid?”

The wizards all shared startled looks when another window popped up next to the one with the text output and prompted for a password. Aziraphale looked at Crowley who smirked and canted their head encouragingly. In English they said, “Open in the name of Heaven?”

+++ Divide by potato error. Too many eyes. Redo from start. +++

Crowley let out a laugh and murmured, “It’s got to be them. Or connected to them or something.” They turned to look at the wizards, noticed all the bright curious eyes of the students and realized the potato reference might not just be a pass at humor. They slid a look at Aziraphale and could see they’d come to the same realization.

It was easy enough to slide back into the slick demonic persona they’d developed over the centuries. All it took was a wide sharp grin and a flash of their eyes over the top of the glasses as they rubbed their hands together and asked in a gravelly voice, “Alright, now that you’ve had a taste, who’s interested in making a little… Arrangement?”

There was a moment of silence and then the students began hemming and hawing as they backed away, making their excuses and hastily retreating into the elevator and the relative safety of the floor above. When the door dinged shut Simon burst out laughing and patted Crowley on the arm. “That was brilliant!”

Crowley grinned at him, and at Esk when she gave in and snorted out a laugh. “A few too many eyes, eh, angel?”

Aziraphale was smiling. “Yes. Perhaps we should finish our other business first, before we try to figure out what’s hidden behind this password?” they suggested to the remaining wizards.

“Yup, I’ve seen enough, sign me up,” said Rincewind. “What do I need to do?”

Esk explained the terms and when the four wizards agreed the celestials summoned up four more cups of scumble. Ridcully inhaled appreciatively while the others’ eyes started watering. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had scumble,” he said, eyes going misty with nostalgia. They all tossed the drink back and after a few coughing fits and some mild swearing burned the cups. That resulted in swearing of the not-so-mild variety while Esk and Simon grinned hugely at Ponder and Ridcully’s reactions. Rincewind and the Librarian, having previously seen a hint of their true powers, and having warning from Esk, kept together slightly better.

Now thoroughly inebriated, Ridcully dropped down onto one of the nearby wheeled chairs, sending it squeaking backward across the floor. “I’m goin’ ta be Archchancellor,” he announced. “And I’m doin’ it on me own merits,” he said with a poorly aimed finger pointed mostly at Ponder.

Ponder made a dismissive noise and weaved cautiously over to another chair. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Alright.” Ponder lost his train of thought for a moment before remembering what he’d wanted to say. “Tell us what you’re going to do.”

Rincewind slouched down onto another chair, and translated for the Librarian when he made a few emphatic gestures. “No speeches, real ideas.”

“What about accessibility?” demanded Simon, wheeling over to join the discussion.

“And getting in more minorities?” Esk asked, giving them all a big grin when they realized she was the only one who was sober. “That’s right, I’m going to remember _all of this._ So think real carefully about what you’re going to promise, because I’m going to hold you to it. All of it.”

With the four other wizards enraptured with Ridcully’s plans, Aziraphale and Crowley returned to the array of monitors and the awaiting prompt. Aziraphale took a seat on one of the old wheeled chairs in front of a keyboard that had definitely been salvaged from a few different typewriters. “What do you think the password might be?” Aziraphale murmured.

“If it’s not what you used on the, er, thing, was there something you discussed with Hex that was really memorable? Important?”

“I don’t remember anything like that,” Aziraphale said with a frustrated sigh.

Crowley looked away from the prompt towards the other monitors, ready out of long habit to cast a spell to allow them to read the much smaller fonts only to discover that the words were already in focus. They stared, lifting their glasses to be sure, pulling out their phone for confirmation. They hadn’t been able to read without magical assistance in two thousand years and the former demon had to walk away for a moment to collect themself.

Aziraphale turned to look at them, catching sight of the handkerchief as it vanished back into a pocket. “Crowley? Is something wrong?”

Crowley shook their head, pacing back to beside Aziraphale’s chair and gesturing at the monitors. “I can read them. I guess the curse broke when everything else happened, I just haven’t been paying attention.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, thinking of the tears they’d been shocked to see on Crowley’s face. “After you came back,” they murmured. “I didn’t realize… I’m so glad.”

Crowley tried to shrug it off. “It was a nuisance at most, angel. Smoked lenses and a bit of enchantment let me read what I needed to. And really big text helped,” they said, with a nod at the window still displaying the greeting from Hex. “So, back to Hex. You knew them better than I did, actually working in the Library. You told me you thought they were from earth. And somehow bound inside the Library or maybe stuck there?”

Aziraphale nodded, considering what they remembered of the being that had ended up running the Library, Archive and Department of Earth Observation for both heaven and hell. “I always had the impression that they knew more about _before_ than they told me. More than they could tell me, perhaps. What about you?”

“Yeah, had the feeling that they’d known me, but I didn’t want to know and they respected that.” Crowley let out a sigh. “Well, we could see if Cerium has an idea,” Crowley suggested. They both turned when Ridcully said something that had all the wizards groaning and loudly disagreeing. “Later.”

“That seems like a sound idea.” Aziraphale turned back to the blinking prompt, and looked up at Crowley who was also staring at the prompt, and they smiled in unison. “A few attempts couldn’t hurt though, could it?”

“I can’t see how,” Crowley admitted, pacing a little as they considered. “Can we get a password hint?” they asked the bank of monitors, grinning at Aziraphale when a little dialog popped up with a familiar phrase on it. _Dogs Barking Can’t Fly Without Umbrella._ “Talked with Hex in the last decade, have you?”

Aziraphale gave a sheepish shrug but had to chuckle. “I might have. Would have been terribly rude, to not visit with a friend,” the reformed angel admitted, a little teary eyed. “I still had access on the old Slablet, so Hex and I could talk privately while I did ‘research’.”

“Clever. No passwords from that?”

Aziraphale shook their head. “It was a Nexus. What about you? Anything recent that you discussed with them that you can recall?”

“Haven’t talked with them in over a decade,” Crowley admitted. “Figured it was best they not have contact with me once we’d decided to thwart. Cut off contact with pretty much everyone. Before then we’d chat and play games while I was left waiting to give reports and the like, but nothing important.”

Aziraphale sighed and realized, “Oh, of course.”

Crowley gave them a quizzical look, recognizing the expression on their face. “You’ve thought of something.”

“Seems rather obvious, but I could be wrong.” They smiled at the monitor and said quietly, “Would you like to play a game of Serpents and Ladders?”

Crowley let out a hissing laugh and squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder when the screen blanked and pulled up a familiar and very ancient game board. “You brilliant bastard.”

There were two tiny winged game avatars on the same square in the middle of the board, one at the tail of a serpent, the other at the top rung of a ladder. “That’s right, you’d had terrible luck and then got to roll three times in a row,” remembered Aziraphale, losing their smile for a moment. “Too bad my power didn’t work on Hex, maybe I’d have won more often,” they teased, pulling out the black handkerchief to quickly dab at their eyes.

“Would not,” scorned Crowley, rubbing their knuckles against Aziraphale’s shoulder, their eyes drawn to that quick flash of black cloth. “Cause Hex clearly liked me more.”

Aziraphale made a disgusted noise, and told the monitor. “Please take my turn, Hex.” A little image of a die appeared and rolled across the bottom of the screen. They gave Crowley a smug look when it rolled a six and got to roll again. “There you see? Hex-”

“Just set you sliding back to the first row,” crowed the former demon as the little white-winged figure slipped over the coils of one of the serpents down to the bottom of the board. “That’s what you get for talking about cheating,” they said, grinning when Aziraphale pouted playfully. “I never cheated.”

“You used to offer them bribes!” Aziraphale laughed.

“Eh, I mean, it’s not like they ever accepted,” Crowley shrugged. “Alright Hex, do your thing.” When the die sent them also sliding back they threw their hands up in the air and stalked around in a circle while Aziraphale chuckled. “Fine, guess we both get to start over.”

“Well, we did. We have. Repeatedly.” Aziraphale spoke a few different words for start, or beginning but there was no reaction from Hex or the game. “Oh well, worth a try. Shall we continue playing this game, Hex?”

+++ Yes. At Our Usual Time. +++

They turned to stare at one another as the screen blanked for a moment before returning to its normal, and currently empty, prompt window. Before they could speak, Rincewind appeared behind them, looking perhaps just the slightest amount less drunk than he had earlier. “Uh, sorry to interrupt but… there’s a talking rat here to see you?”

“Oh, that’s right, I hope we haven’t kept them waiting too long,” said Aziraphale, gesturing for Rincewind to lead the way to the visitor.

The male wizards were all trying very hard to not stare at Peaches, who had climbed up onto one of the chairs and was watching them all with an expression of amusement that wasn’t very different from the one Esk was wearing. “Hello again,” said Peaches.

“Hello,” smiled Aziraphale. “Have you been introduced to everyone?”

She nodded. “Oh yes, thank you, Esk did the honors. I am sorry to interrupt but Dangerous Beans is very impatient to speak with you all, especially Crowley and Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale nodded when Crowley looked their way before answering, “We’re ready whenever you like. You said he wasn’t well?”

Her posture shifted into one that made her concern clear. “He was hurt a while ago and has been slow to heal. He’s never been particularly… hearty, you’ll remember.” She shook her head at herself and reassumed her confident pose. “A topic to discuss later. Please, will you allow us to speak in peace? We wish to parlay.”

Crowley and Aziraphale both looked to the wizards who all looked to Ponder, since if anyone was in charge of the HEM, it was him. “Uh, oh, you… have been very polite, and er, well, more civilized than most of my colleagues, so yeah, yes, you- ohh.” The rats revealed themselves at his words and Rincewind broke into laughter, slapping the Librarian on the shoulder.

“I told you! I told you a rat was reading in the Library and you didn’t believe me! See!”

[I figured someone was playing a prank!] the Librarian protested. [There are protections, you know, against…] He didn’t make the sign, though it was clear what he was thinking. _Vermin._

“We have not been normal rats for a very long time,” said the undersized white rat that was being carefully wheeled out of the shadows by a pair of big protective males on a toy cart. “We prefer the term rodents, if you please.”

“Yes, of course,” said Rincewind, translating for the Librarian. “You were the one I saw reading, weren’t you? Only, er, that was...”

Dangerous Beans chuckled. “A very long time ago, in the lifetime of standard rats, yes. But we have discovered we age, and reproduce, more like humans now, being changed by human magics as we were. So even the oldest of us were mere children by human standards when the Change came. And now the first generation of us is reaching maturity.” He nodded when he saw their expressions all shift with understanding. “Ah, I see you understand.”

“Magic using r-rodents,” said Ridcully, covering his eyes with his hand and dragging it down his face. “Who’ll need teachers who won’t try to capture them or, or, shit.”

“Which is why we would like to enter the Arrangement as well,” said Peaches, going to stand protectively next to Dangerous Beans, and leaning on the side of the cart to hold hands with him. “We need more education than what we can give ourselves, and we need protection. You earned our trust, Serpent-Who-Walks, when you answered the ad in the paper and figured out what we were but didn’t try to harm us or exploit us.”

Crowley blinked at her and darted a look at Aziraphale, who shrugged helplessly. “All creatures, great and small?”

“I suppose,” said Crowley. “Before we figure out the logistics of that, do you mind if we ask you a few questions? We know there’s been some weirdness going on around campus, do you know anything about it?”

“Ah, has the buzzing begun happening outside of our spaces?” Dangerous Beans asked.

They exchanged very worried looks and Esk blurted unhappily, “There’s been buzzing?”

“Yeah.” From the shadows prowled a scruffy tom cat who had clearly seen rough times earlier in life but was living in better circumstances now. The rodents acknowledged his presence but were clearly unafraid. “It’s worst in the between places and the darkest corners. We were discussing sending a message to Crowley when the scouts spotted you on campus.”

“Maurice,” said Crowley, respectfully not looking directly at the wary cat, smiling a little to see Aziraphale doing the same. “Been an age. Holding up okay?”

“Crowley. Yeah, life’s been good, thanks for asking.” The rodents were smart enough to know they outnumbered Crowley, so didn’t show any fear for the one they had named Serpent-Who-Walks. But Maurice was half again smarter than most of the rodents and knew there were times when numbers weren’t going to make a difference, and he had always regarded Crowley as someone best respectfully avoided when possible. But he could tell there was something different about the not-human that he couldn’t quite sniff out from a distance. “What the skrrlp happened to you?”

“Oh, uh, long story. Let’s just say I ended up going freelance.”

Maurice cautiously moved closer to the Serpent and sniffed their pant leg, tail going poofy in surprise. “You’ve Changed!” Maurice looked towards Peaches, who moved closer and also sniffed. “Queen-Of-Midnight!”

“What?” The rodents began whispering among themselves and Crowley was startled into staring down at Maurice when he rubbed against their leg, quickly looking away again so as to not scare him. “This is my best friend Aziraphale.” Crowley watched him sidelong, grinning when Maurice caught wind of Aziraphale. His eyes went wide like he’d scented catnip and a very rusty purr started up as he brushed up against Aziraphale’s legs.

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Aziraphale, giving Crowley a suppressed smile when Maurice threw himself onto his side onto Aziraphale’s shoe. “Maurice is it?”

“Mmm yeah, if you like?” Maurice purred drunkenly. “Queen-Of-Noonlight.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” said Aziraphale as Peaches cautiously sniffed them and nodded before moving back to Dangerous Bean’s side and whispering urgently into his ear.

“You’ve been named,” said Crowley lowly. “I was Serpent-Who-Walks.”

“Yes,” spoke up Peaches. “These are the essence-names for the guardians Dangerous Beans dreamed of; a dark Serpent and a golden Cat.”

They exchanged another set of looks. “Dreamed of?” Aziraphale echoed, looking at Crowley who shrugged. “If I may, how is it you can speak a human language? Did one of the wizards-”

Peaches shook her head. “There was something that Changed us before we knew any humans.”

“Do you happen to know how long ago that was?” Rincewind asked, looking curiously at the Librarian, whose face was in deep thoughtful lines.

“We do not. Time flows differently in the between places and we didn’t know we were changed until you came.” She looked to Simon, who stared at her in open-mouthed shock, “and the other dwellers-between-walls became mindless with fear and fled.” Peaches looked up at Esk with what could only be called pride on her little face. “We know that you saved us all from the Buzzing Things. But it is so much stronger this time, which is why we decided to contact you, Crowley, because we know you use magic but are not a wizard, who the Things like to eat.”

“Oof, that’s embarrassing,” grumbled Maurice as he rolled back to his feet.

“I do apologize,” said Aziraphale. “Didn’t know I would, could, affect you that way.”

Maurice shook himself all over and groomed his shoulder at having such an uncontrollably strong reaction to the newcomer. If word got out that he’d rolled over for any old human- “What are you?”

“Oh, uh, well-”

“Lion,” Crowley answered when Aziraphale gave them a baffled look. “Of a sorts.”

“Oh, that’s alright then. But _You_ ,” it was a slightly yowled accusation. “She marked both of you!”

“I don’t- oh, You, the white cat,” Aziraphale realized. “You know You?”

Maurice started cleaning his paw nervously, watching the rodents sidelong. “She, er, came with a witch a few seasons back, who was visiting in the kitchens. Almost had an incident with Dangerous Beans, but I stopped her! Er, mostly. But he’s healing up fine.”

“Maurice was very brave,” said Dangerous Beans, and it was clear he was being sincere but also somehow teasing Maurice just a bit. “And he got a reward.”

“You don’t say no to a lady!” he yowled, clearly embarrassed. “It’s not like I get much opportunities for, er, anyway, any chance she’ll be visiting again soon?”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale as Crowley and Esk both choked back laughter. “Perhaps. She’s raising her kittens at Granny Weatherwax’s house. Very strong, clever kittens they are too.”

Somehow Maurice managed to look both proud and sheepish. “Oh, well, that’s, that’s good. And Crowley’s here, so the messengers don’t have to go searching for anyone, so that’s settled, yeah?” he asked Peaches, clearly desperate for escape. “I’ll just go get Gaspode alright?”

“Yes, Maurice,” said Peaches, sitting back on her haunches when Maurice hurriedly sauntered off. “Gaspode is another of our allies.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale rubbed their hands together. “How should we do this? I suppose it would be the right size if all of you share one cup, if you don’t mind a communal drink.”

“I assure you, no germ could survive scumble,” said Ridcully. “Hell, one years’ vintage was so potent, _humans_ didn’t survive. They called it suicider that year-”

“What?” said Aziraphale, vividly remembering Lu-Tze letting slip that name for the cider, many years after the fact.

“What year?” Crowley demanded.

Ridcully blanched under their stares. “Uh, well, er, forty-one I think? Some claim that was brewed by Satanic nuns,” he said, sharing worried looks with the other wizards when Aziraphale gasped and turned to Crowley.

“Is that why?” they asked. “Why, why I couldn’t get sober? Was it part of the set-up?”

Crowley nodded, rubbing at their face, not really wanting to discuss it in front of everyone, but needing to tell Aziraphale something. “I didn’t find out until after-”

“Of course,” soothed Aziraphale, reluctant to say anything as well. “I know.”

Crowley closed their eyes and nodded, letting out a breath of relief. “It was cursed and infused with hellfire. I’m starting to think Nanny somehow used a similar recipe, only blessed instead.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale considered that, considered what they knew of Nanny and had to smile. “That seems highly likely. And that could explain why it affects us so strongly.”

“Esk said you two were absolutely hammered,” said Simon, slapping a hand over his mouth when they both turned to look at him. “I shouldn’t’ve said that.”

Esk snorted out a laugh, and soon the other wizards were all trying to keep from laughing and failing and Aziraphale gave in too, smiling at Crowley when they shook their head and tried to hide the smile tugging at their lips. “Hammers and anvils indeed.”

There was a faint scrabbling noise and Maurice reappeared followed shortly by a small scruffy dog who strutted out of the shadows tongue lolling as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Until he caught sight of Crowley and Aziraphale and barked, “Shit!” and tried to bolt back up the stairs but Crowley had already snapped the door shut.

“Well this is unexpected,” said Crowley, sauntering closer to the cowering but growling dog. “How have you been up here for so long without getting caught?”

“What, like they cared about the lousy runt of the litter?” Gaspode growled, whimpering when Aziraphale moved closer. “They expected the others to eat me.”

Aziraphale stared at Gaspode in shock, instantly noticing the clear resemblance to a certain companion of a certain boy and looking to Crowley for confirmation. “Is he-?”

Crowley nodded. “Yup. Hellhound. Not particularly helly after all these years up here. You see, every once in a while a Kerberos gets born, though it doesn’t have much to do with the mythical, er, myth. The three heads represent them being able to talk to all the spheres; land, sea, air. But they’re hated, because they’re used as spies between the different factions. Last one was born about fifteen years ago? Big scandal when it vanished.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t measure up so I ran away as soon as I could,” said Gaspode. “I know who you are, Crowley. I didn’t think you’d be one to care about a runaway hellhound.”

“I’m not,” said Crowley, crouching down and offering their hand. “Especially now.”

Gaspode eyed them suspiciously but sniffed, blinked and inched closer to sniff again. Looked past them towards where Maurice, the Rodents and the wizards were all watching with clear curiosity and then up at the angel, who gently offered their hand for sniffing too. “Oh.”

“We mean you no harm,” said Aziraphale. “But, oh, how will it affect him?” they worried. “It is technically holy water.”

“Er, hadn’t thought of that,” said Crowley, standing back up. “Might be best if you don’t-”

“No,” barked Gaspode, bouncing to his feet. “No, I need the protection! I’ve been smelling them more and more and it’s only a matter of time,” he whined. “I don’t want to go back! Can’t! Won’t!”

“We’ll help you even if you can’t drink,” soothed Aziraphale, and Crowley nodded when Gaspode looked to them. “There’s another hellhound, who also lost their hellishness. We could consult with his er, friend, and see if he knows how it came about.”

“Lost it in only a few days time. Yours has been wearing away over decades, if there was that much to begin with,” said Crowley thoughtfully. “Well, you drink last, if you can. Alright?”

Gaspode nodded reluctantly and trotted closer to the gathering, touching noses with Dangerous Beans and with Peaches, playbowing towards the rest of the rodents before turning to look at the wizards, who were all staring at him. “What, never seen a talking dog before?”

They all shook their head no and Gaspode rolled his eyes but said no more.

“Esk, would you do the honors of explaining the Arrangement?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley summoned up one of the larger cups of scumble, setting it down next to the little cart where Dangerous Beans was laying. When Esk finished explaining the rodents all nodded in agreement, each taking a sip from the cup after Dangerous Beans and Peaches had taken theirs. When they were done, Maurice made his pledge and took a lick, fur standing on end as he sneezed violently. Finally Gaspode hesitantly approached the cup, which had just enough liquid left to dampen his tongue, and he yelped and sneezed but was otherwise unharmed, much to everyone’s relief.

One of the rodents pulled out a match as everyone withdrew to a safe distance, lighting it and lobbing it into the cup with worrisome accuracy. They all seemed unsurprised by what the visions revealed to them and most of the rodents scurried back into the safety of the shadows, leaving just Peaches, Dangerous Beans, Maurice and Gaspode among the humans.

“Now that that’s done, may we speak with you both in private?” Dangerous Beans asked, waving towards the shadows where the rodents had gone.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look and came to the same decision without having to speak a word. Aziraphale asked Esk to keep an eye on the umbrella before they both shifting into small versions of their more mundane forms, a black adder and a longhair ginger cat with spots instead of stripes. “Will these forms work for you?” Aziraphale asked, lifting a plume-like tail when the white rat nodded in agreement. Maurice helped Peaches wheel the cart back into the shadows before returning to the humans and loudly asking for scratches and Gaspode immediately demanded equal attention.

Hidden in the shadows, behind a carefully stacked set of boxes, was a grate that had been turned into a door, allowing access into some ductwork the rodents had altered to suit their needs. It was set up as a communal space, with cushions and a few small battery powered lights. Most of the rodents had vanished but a couple dozen were lingering in the area, including the one who had lit the match and the two guards who helped move the cart into the space before closing and latching the grate shut behind it.

“The wizards do not know this,” said Dangerous Beans as Peaches helped him climb down from his cart. “But I was a pet, to one of the wizards. He was running experiments.”

“Do you know his name?” asked Crowley, slithering very slowly into the center of the space and keeping their head low to not alarm any of the rodents watching them. “Is he still- Pft, angel!” Aziraphale had laid down almost on top of them, giving them a face full of fur.

“Oh dear, dreadfully sorry, been a while since I’ve dealt with long hair, er, fur,” Aziraphale apologized amidst ratty snickers, starting to purr when Crowley coiled against their side and rested their head over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I do not know his name, and I’m not sure if he still works or lives here,” said Dangerous Beans, giving Aziraphale a nod of approval. Hard to be afraid of a snake if they’re mostly hidden by their friend’s fluffy orange fur. “I escaped not long before Esk and Simon came.”

“How is it you’re not drunk?” Crowley blurted curiously.

“Oh, we are, a little,” said Peaches. “But we had a very big meal before asking to meet with you, and made sure to be well hydrated. And we warned Maurice and Gaspode as well.”

“We really need to remember to warn them like that,” murmured Aziraphale.

“Eh, they’re aware of the consequencesss of drinking,” said Crowley, making sure to not focus on any one rodent for too long and wishing that snakes had eyelids so they could at least blink and be less intimidating. “Were the experiments what resulted in the Change?”

“I’m not sure,” Dangerous Beans admitted, going down to all fours and slowly moving closer to the two of them, the rodents all watching in concerned silence. “That is not why I wished to speak with you in private,” he admitted, quivering with fear when both Aziraphale and Crowley hissed in a breath and focused on him in horrified understanding. “I think I have helped bring the Buzzing Things. And I think you must kill me.”

“How, you, you went to the dungeon dimension?” asked Aziraphale. It was just like what had been happening to Simon, only on a tinier scale, which is why they hadn’t sensed it earlier. Now, being of a size with Dangerous Beans, it was terribly obvious. “When?”

“Spring,” Dangerous Beans admitted. “About a moon before the white cat came.”

“You put yourself in You’s path on purpose,” sensed Crowley, sending a murmur through the watching rodents when Dangerous Beans lowered his head. “This is becoming a pattern, those infected by a Thing thinking they deserve to die.”

“Well, that will not do, at all,” said Aziraphale. “You did nothing wrong, did nothing to deserve the pain you are enduring. We can help you, if you will allow us.” :He is very weak. I fear he won’t survive us attacking it the way we did for Simon,: they told Crowley, deeply concerned. :Do you think we can reach it? Pull it out?:

“Your people need you, need your guidance, and they’ll need your strength to get through all the changes that are coming,” said Crowley. :Yes. We’ll need to kill it fast, who know what it’ll do, can do, brought out into reality like that.:

“I am not strong,” protested Dangerous Beans. “I am a burden-”

“You are loved,” Aziraphale corrected. “And there are many kinds of strength. Come, let us tend you,” they said, gathering the trembling rodent closer with their right paw and gently grooming the top of his head. “There there, shh, shh, there- now!”

Aziraphale bit and Crowley struck, and the watching rodents gasped and started forward, only to back away in horror as the struggling Leech billowed outward into the physical world from the strange infinite yet infinitesimal space souls reside in while bound inside of a corporeal form. It was massive compared to Dangerous Beans, and Aziraphale dragged the tail of it away while Crowley coiled around its head, careful of the gaping tooth-filled maw, their fangs embedded in its neck, but not yet injecting any venom.

The air was just starting to buzz when the barbed tail slipped free and they struck in earnest, with blade-sharp claws and lightning-fast venom, and the buzzing stopped when the amorphous Leech popped like a bubble. They returned to Dangerous Beans, who was staring in shocked amazement, healing him with a joint miracle. “That was in me?” he asked, shuddering when they both nodded. “Thank you Crowley, thank you so much!” he said, throwing his arms around Crowley’s neck.

Crowley bowed their head to gently touch their chin to Dangerous Bean’s shoulder, giving him a blessing of protection. “Er, happy to help.”

“And you too Aziraphale! How can I show you my gratitude?” he asked, releasing Crowley to embrace Aziraphale and almost vanishing beneath their fluff.

Aziraphale chuckled and groomed the top of his head, adding their blessing as well. “We don’t ask for anything more than you’ve already agreed to.”

“And will we be allowed in the Garden like the others?” They both turned to stare at Peaches in surprise. “I saw it in the fire, an eternal Garden full of sunlight and stars-”

“Yes,” they both answered. “No one who seeks it is turned away from the shelter of the Garden,” said Aziraphale, not sure where the words came from, but knowing they were true.

“Some just have to work harder to find their way, is all,” agreed Crowley.

“You should rest now,” Aziraphale told Dangerous Beans, who already seemed steadier as he moved back to join Peaches by the cart. They nodded in farewell and were let out by the guards, standing for a moment in front of the grate as the lock was reset.

:That was… unexpected,: said Crowley, coiling upright and looking towards Aziraphale.

:Yes. What does it mean, that she could see the Garden in the vision,: they wondered. :And that we- it felt like truth, what we said.:

:Yeah.: Crowley shared a look with Aziraphale, and though they couldn’t smile in those forms, there was amazed glee in their mind-voice as Crowley said, :Rodent Magicians!:

:I know! I could barely contain myself,: Aziraphale admitted, nodding their head towards the voices of the others who were clearly in a heated discussion about something.

:You can imagine what it was like when I met them and realized they were smarter than the human they’d hired to act as their ‘trainer’,: complained Crowley, slithering in that direction, Aziraphale keeping pace with them.

:They _hired_ a human-:

:Technically, Maurice hired him. They don’t like stealing, so they wanted money to buy things, but not exactly a booming job market for rodents. So they marketed themselves as ‘trained rodents’ for performances and, er, other opportunities.: Crowley hissed out a laugh at Aziraphale’s incredulous look. :Yup, that’s exactly how I reacted too.:

:So what exactly did you need ‘trained rodents’ for?:

:Er, well, remember when the mobile systems went down, oh, about eleven years ago?:

Aziraphale shook their head with amusement as they both shifted back into their human seemings. “You will have to tell me that story in full,” they said, gently dusting off Crowley’s shoulders as the former demon smoothed Aziraphale’s lapels.

“I was rather proud of it,” Crowley admitted, reluctantly stepping away and shoving their hands into their pockets. “’Course, bit me in the bum when I tried calling you that night.”

“Ah yes, evil, as ever, bringing forth the seeds of their own destruction,” Aziraphale teased, laughing quietly when Crowley made a disgusted noise.

“It’s not like I could have known-”

Simon broke into song just when they reached the little gathering, singing mostly in tune, “Oh, what do we do with a drunken wizard?” and Esk got up and walked away as the others enthusiastically joined in, including Gaspode and Maurice who were sprawled together on one of the chairs.

“Everything okay?” she asked when she spotted them, smirking when they both cringed at the off key singing. “Ready to go? I sure am,” she said, offering the umbrella to Aziraphale.

“Yeah, all settled for now,” said Crowley, canting their head towards the elevator.

Aziraphale accepted the umbrella, fidgeting with the handle. “We should see if there is more to be discovered. We could try the runes, see if we get anything from them.”

Esk nodded and fell into step with them. “I’m sure they’ll be like that for hours,” she said when they were in the relative quiet of the lift. “Doubt they’ll even notice we left. Are you hungry? I haven’t even had breakfast yet. We’ll have to pass the green though, to get to the Great Hall,” she said, with a look to Crowley, who grimaced but nodded. “It’s decent food, much better than I’ve seen at most schools anyway. And Ridcully wasn’t exaggerating when he said that you could set off a light show in there and no one would bat an eye.”

“It would be a pleasure,” said Aziraphale, checking the sword and frowning to see that even more of the bronze had flaked away. They showed Crowley and Esk when they showed an interest. “I am baffled by this, I must admit. My ring did this, as did my watch.”

“Your watch was from upstairs?” Crowley asked in surprise as they stepped out into the main area, thinking of the antique fob watch that had been shattered by Smith. It was second nature to throw a toothy smile at the nearest students, sharing a chuckle with the others when the students quickly scurried away.

“It was what allowed me to go upstairs and come back without losing too much time. You know how it was,” they shrugged, lips pressed into a thin line. “Wouldn’t do for me to spend a moment more than necessary, er, up there when I was supposed to be down here. Had been a medallion, but I transmogrified into a watch when they became a thing.”

“Huh. Was all tied to the mark for me,” said Crowley, tapping their right temple where Aziraphale’s blessing was still going strong. “Surprised it wasn’t tied to your ring.”

“I wondered about that myself, you know. But I’m beginning to think my ring was too old to be altered.” Aziraphale sighed but gave Crowley a fond playful smile and said, “But your ring’s far more interesting and lovely than that one ever was.”

“What’s this?” Esk said curiously, even more interested when Crowley’s cheeks pinkened.

“Ah, you see, I used to have a ring that I wore on my right pinky. A mark of my oath. But I removed it, Tuesday last.” They nodded when her expression shifted in understanding. “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting to not having it as a, er, worry stone. But Crowley generously loaned me one of their rings.” Aziraphale revealed it to Esk, eyes alight with mirth. “A genuine, authentic, one-of-a-kind mood ring.”

A surprised laugh escaped her and she took Aziraphale’s hand to get a better look at the ring. “Oh, that’s actually very pretty,” she said, looking up at Crowley with a smile. The ring was doing the impossible, creating a little impressionistic picture of a yellow flower with a green stem on a multi-hued blue background edged with purple.

“Hey,” Crowley protested, pretending they weren’t flattered, gesturing to take in their clothes. “I happen to have very good taste.”

Esk and Aziraphale shared a look, both wrinkling their noses. “A belt that looks like a real snake? Really?” she asked, giving a playful little disapproving shake of her head, grinning when they spluttered in mock-offense. “So what do the colors mean?” she asked.

“Oh, we’re still working that out,” said Aziraphale. “Indigo is contentment we think. Amber is worry, that one I’m quite sure of.”

“Green’s happy. Grey’s tired,” supplied Crowley. “Yellow’s for imagination, being creative.”

“Haven’t seen red yet but I’m guessing it represents anger.” Aziraphale smiled at the ring and then at Crowley. “It really was the sweetest gesture.”

“Best friend and all that,” Crowley shrugged and looked away, but bumped their shoulder against Aziraphale’s when they stepped out of the HEM. The former demon had remembered to keep themself shielded this time and it was a relief they had when they saw how busy the green had become. “Is this typical for one of these things?”

Esk was smiling to see all the people and she shook her head. “This is actually more people than usual. Ponder convinced them to put ads in the paper and online this year. I don’t know why but having all these people here makes it seem less…”

“Creepy?” She nodded in agreement and Aziraphale explained, “It’s all their disbelief, it firms the barriers between the planes. As powerful as belief in situations like this.”

“Oh. Well, the Great Hall’s this way.” They started across the green, Crowley and Esk sharing indulgent grins when the reformed angel got distracted by another book seller. Purchase made, they gushed about the amazing find they’d gotten for a steal. There was a second booth, and a third and shortly a second tartan carpetbag was created and half full.

“You must think me ridiculous,” Aziraphale said apologetically, catching them at it.

“Absolutely not!” Esk protested. “I find your love of books wonderful and sweet,” she insisted, looping her arm through Aziraphale’s. “I am so happy that you’re both part of my life. I really admire how patient you are with us, how you make sure even the most complex concepts are broken down into understandable parts. You’re the kind of teacher I aspire to be one day.”

Aziraphale blushed deeply at the compliment and patted her hand. “That is the loveliest thing you could have ever said to me,” they admitted, blinking back tears.

“You’re well on your way,” Crowley said softly, looking off across the green when Esk gave them a surprised look. “Just need some tartan,” they said with a playful smirk, making her laugh.

“Maybe I’ll get Agnes to make me a tartan coat,” she said with a grin at Aziraphale.

“I think you would look quite nifty in tartan,” Aziraphale agreed, freezing when they caught sight of a familiar face. “Oh saints and demons preserve us, it’s Karen.”

Crowley did a double-take at Aziraphale’s use of that phrase and then whipped around to look where they were pointedly not looking, also catching sight of her. “Well, shit.”

“Dr. Fell!” Karen made a beeline for them, her smile slipping when she spotted Esk with her arm looped through Dr. Fell’s right arm, and the Ashtoreth woman smiling sardonically in her direction from the Dr.’s other side. “How nice, to find a familiar face in the crowd.”

Aziraphale swallowed a sigh and gave her a polite smile. “Mrs. Grimm. Let me introduce Dr. Eskarina Smith, who works here at the University.”

“Hello,” said Esk, her eyes narrowing just the slightest as she looked a little beyond the blond woman. What she saw had her smiling faintly as she shook the woman’s hand. “Enjoying the book fair I hope?”

“Oh, yes, especially now,” Karen said, toying with the golden bauble on her necklace as she fluttered at Aziraphale. “I really have been missing our little meetings, Dr. Fell.”

“Ah, yes, well, it’s been a very busy week,” said Aziraphale a touch desperately. When Crowley nodded their head towards the nearest booth in an invitation to escape, Aziraphale jumped at it. “Oh, look, it’s me old mate, er, Gabe. Haven’t seen Gabe in ages, best go say hello! Do excuse me.”

They all watched Aziraphale hurry over to the nearest booth, and the knowing look Esk gave Crowley while Karen was distracted made them grin with anticipation. The former demon schooled their expression back into a mere smirk when Karen turned back to give them both appraising once overs. “Ms. Ashtoreth. What a surprise to find you here.”

“Likewise,” said Crowley with a toothy grin. “Didn’t take you for a reader, Mrs. Grimm.”

“Oh, I dabble,” said Karen with a dismissive shrug. “Have to admit, I thought the same of you, Ms. Ashtoreth. I do hope this isn’t rude, but, can you read? With your little affliction?” she asked, gesturing towards the sunglasses. “That’s quite the curse you’ve acquired.”

Crowley and Esk both canted their heads at her words. The spell hadn’t revealed her as having magic, but it was highly unlikely that someone untrained would be able to sense a curse as subtle and old as the one that had been on Crowley. _But it was broken when we met,_ Crowley realized, _so how did she know I was cursed?_ They filed that thought away for later. “How _nice_ of you to ask but I’m not one to let something so trivial hold me back. Barely a nuisance really, since my oldest, dearest friend will gladly read to me whenever I need. Quite the loveliest voice to fall asleep to,” Crowley goaded, ignoring the uncomfortably knowing look Esk was giving them.

“Angelic, even,” said Esk with a faint bland smile when Karen pierced her with a look.

“So how is it you know Dr. Fell?” Karen asked with a hint of sneer. “Eskarina was it? What a delightfully… ethnic, name. Where’s that from?”

“Old family name,” said Esk, unfortunately used to that sort of reaction. “But you can call me Dr. Smith, so much simpler. As it happens, Dr. Fell is one of my most esteemed mentors.”

“Ah,” Karen said, her eyes roaming the old buildings with new interest as though putting price tags on everything. “It certainly is nice of you to accommodate Ms. Ashtoreth while Dr. Fell sees to business.” She began twisting the golden bauble on her necklace so that it caught the light, and murmured, “You do know he’d hate for you to waste a single moment of your time out of some misguided sense of hero worship,” she said patronizingly. “He’s just too nice to say no sometimes! But a woman in your position must know how certain behaviors come across.”

Esk frowned when Karen patted her hand, expression full of condescending concern. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Mrs. Grimm. It’s hardly a hardship to spend time with my favorite cousin,” Esk said, linking arms with Crowley and giving them a big smile when they gave her a raised eyebrow in return.

“Oh so now I’m your favorite, huh,” said Crowley playfully, watching sidelong as Karen tried to recover from her little ploy backfiring in such spectacular fashion. “Out of how many cousins exactly?”

“Well, you’re my favorite you,” Esk answered honestly with a smile.”Speaking of family, how’s Granny and Nanny and everyone doing? Sorry Simon and I missed out on lunch yesterday but you know how it is, getting ready for the autumn semester.”

“Hmm. We ended up leaving early to avoid the weather, but it was a good visit.” Crowley nodded in the direction they had been moving and they started walking arm in arm, forcing Karen to trail behind. “We discussed moving the weekly get-together to Friday evenings once the school year gets started again, so more of the younger, er, cousins can make it.”

Esk made approving noises and asked about something else inconsequential, and Crowley responded in kind, sharing a grin when Karen finally left in a wordless huff when they reached the Great Hall with no sign of Aziraphale anywhere.

When she was out of sight Aziraphale melted out of the crowd and joined them by the doors. “I’m sorry,” they said, sighing when they both shook their heads to put the reformed angel at ease. “Thank you.”

Esk pulled open one of the doors into the Great Hall and waved them inside. “So what was that about?” She led them past the student dining area into the faculty area, waving at one of the staff dressed in the modernized red uniform of the university.

“That was Mrs. Karen Grimm, thorn in my side,” said Aziraphale, making appreciative noises when they saw the spread of food. The reformed angel explained the situation as they progressed down the line, each picking and choosing before Esk escorted them to one of many smaller tables that were enchanted to keep others from easily overhearing their conversation. “So I’ve been trying to get her to agree to the purchase but apparently she has other ideas,” they said with an annoyed sniff, giving Crowley a warning look when they snickered.

“Esk figured it out on her own, angel, I didn’t have to say a word,” Crowley protested.

“It seemed very apparent who she was here for and why,” Esk confirmed, taking a bite of her food, barely able to stop herself from grinning at Aziraphale’s annoyed expression.

“How did she find us?” Aziraphale made face at Crowley’s grin. “Yes, yes, I am rather predictable, but there were certainly enough other people to make us hard to spot. It was almost as though she was laying in wait for us.”

“She’s familiar with magic,” Crowley revealed, nodding to Esk for confirmation when Aziraphale gaped in surprise. “She mentioned the curse.”

“In a nasty condescending way, implying I was only spending time with Crowley to impress you,” said Esk. “I think she was trying to use some folk magic on me, playing with her necklace the way she was, but mostly it just made me mad. I, er, I hope you didn’t mind-”

Crowley grinned. “Nah, I don’t mind. Threw her for a loop, you calling me your favorite cousin and asking about Granny and Nanny. Even better, it got rid of her.”

“For now,” said Aziraphale ominously. “But I did stumble over another wonderful find,” they said, beaming when they both chuckled, “so not as bad as it could have been.”

Crowley, finishing their food well before either of them, rummaged through their pockets and pulled out a set of runes carved into dark wood. “More of the same,” they complained after a few attempted readings, putting them away with annoyed huff. “What’s the use of all these warnings if we can’t get any specifics?”

“That’s the problem with seeing the future I suppose,” sighed Esk. “I imagine you two can see it better than we do?”

Crowley shrugged and Aziraphale shook their head. “Short term, maybe,” answered Crowley. “But it’s hardly worth it, trying to premember things farther out than a few minutes when one little shift means you’ve got the wrong path. Humans can’t see the way we do. And Agnes certainly had a clarity we’ve never achieved,” they said, looking to Aziraphale.

“Agnes Nutter had a very rare talent, but I’m not sure if it was seeing the future, or if it was seeing ways to steer the future. She met with Lu-Tze after all.”

“Who?” Esk asked curiously.

“He’s a history monk,” Aziraphale answered, smiling when they both blinked in surprise. “They work to keep history from being meddled with too much. Come now, there’s enough fiction about time travel that you should be familiar with the idea. Considering your own talents...”

“Did he…” Crowley started, biting back the words when a couple of students wandered by. “Topic for another time.”

“We can go to our rooms, if, er, if you’d like to stay and chat? I’ve got tea and coffee and cocoa,” she offered, trying to not sound too hopeful but knowing she wasn’t succeeding.

“Oh, cocoa would be lovely,” said Aziraphale, smiling when Crowley nodded in agreement. “Thank you Esk, for taking so much of your day to show us around. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” she shrugged, getting up when Aziraphale was done and showing them where to put their trays. “But I wanted to. I, uh, I’ve got some questions..?”

“We’ll see if we’ve got the answers,” said Crowley. There was only one more book detour before they returned to Esk and Simon’s rooms. Esk puttered about making the cocoa while Aziraphale settled themself on the couch, the second bag set beside the first on the window seat. Crowley prowled, looking at the pictures and things hung on the walls and set out on shelves, only taking a seat with Aziraphale when Esk brought over three mugs of cocoa. They all took an appreciative sip before Crowley fidgeted and gave in to their curiosity. “So, got to know, how’d you manage it? I’ve never met a self-taught time manipulator before. Well, anyone _else_ ,” Crowley admitted. “Does Simon know?”

“Oh, yeah, we discovered it by accident during an experiment that went sideways. Just seems I’ve got a talent for time manipulation,” Esk shrugged, giving Crowley a pointed look in return. “That was part of what I wanted to talk with _you_ about.”

Crowley blinked at her and shook their head vehemently in the negative. “What? Hell no, you can’t pin that on me!” Crowley made a disgusted face. “Celestials don’t, _can’t_ , er, procreate, even if we wanted to do _that_ with a human. That’s a thing humans made up.”

“Um.” Crowley whipped around to stare at Aziraphale in shock and Aziraphale frowned in distaste, giving them a scolding in return. “No! Never! Ugh, perish the thought!”

“This kind of magic doesn’t even work like that,” Crowley said. “Your lot invented timekeeping, ‘course some of you can play with it if you like.”

When Esk frowned in confusion Aziraphale tried to explain. “What Crowley means is that the ability to manipulate arcane magic is part of your soul, not an inherited ability. But, the point I was trying to make before someone went off on _that_ distasteful tangent,” a pointed look at Crowley who made a face in return, “was that according to legend there are, er, powerful _earthly_ beings who can pass on their powers, _that way,_ with humans. Anyone who’s born could potentially have that sort of ancestry. But those abilities don’t work the way arcane magic does. Take siren song, for example. It only works on certain creatures in specific circumstances, unlike arcane magic which can be channeled in countless ways to create a multitude of effects.”

“Oh. Well. That wasn’t something I expected to learn today or ever,” said Esk dryly, startling a caw of laughter from Crowley. “But-” She made a face but the curiosity was too much. “What about the anti-christ? You said he denied Satan being his father-”

They both shook their heads. “Oh no no, they’re not actually parent and offspring, it’s got nothing to do with _genetics_ ,” said Aziraphale. “It’s a pact, between souls. But for ease of understanding for humans, well, that was the best they could come up with. Lord and vassal were also used, but hasn’t survived into modern usage.”

“But it’s closer to the truth. Sssomeone high an’ mighty giving some poor ignorant soul a tiny bit of their power in exchange for eternal obedience,” Crowley explained with a scowl.

Aziraphale shook their head, looking down at their mug. “Needless to say it’s rarely a equitable trade, especially if they’re then forced to be corporeal, or harder yet, _born_.”

“That’s bad?” Esk asked. “Being born?”

“No, as long as the soul is willing of course. But it represses memories, a soul being bound so thoroughly to the corporeal plane, so completely entwined in flesh and bone. How can it be right, to expect them to uphold a bargain they can’t remember making?” said Aziraphale. “They can’t remember anything of who they were until after they die.”

Crowley admitted, “’Sagainst the rules to tell a pact-bound soul how to break free, but the boy, Adam, figured it out in time. He actually unspoke it, got to keep what he’d been given because himself hadn’t honored the pact. You’d think by now they’d realize he never does.”

“Oh.” Esk stared at them, at their solemn expressions and decided it was time to change the subject. “So can you teach me how to use this knack I have? Cousin?”

Crowley smirked and shrugged. “I can try. When you’ve got a few hours to waste.”

“Saturday?” she asked hopefully, grinning when Crowley nodded. “I’ll call you?”

“Anytime.” Crowley shifted in their seat and looked to Aziraphale. “Were you serious about using a classroom here?”

“Oh yes, absolutely. And you teaching the wizards on campus only makes sense,” they agreed, sighing when Crowley made a face and shrugged. “Crowley, what will it take to get you to see the truth of the situation? Your spontaneity is a virtue when it comes to dueling.” The reformed angel shook their head at Crowley’s continued obstinence and asked Esk, “Have you ever witnessed a magical duel?”

“A few times,” she admitted, smirking. “Mostly between the senior faculty, very showy, drags on forever. Then there was Granny and a previous Archchancellor. That was, well, terrifying honestly. The Things had taken Simon and she started it to get their attention so I could go get him back. And after that I was accepted as a full time student.”

They were all lost in the imagery of Granny having a full on magical duel for a moment before Aziraphale shook their head and brought them back to the topic at hand. “The wizards started out with illusions, and then progressed to showier and showier spells?” Esk nodded. “Yes, with British wizards it’s about having esoteric spells stored up and ritually casting them in a very dramatic way that shows how much effort was put into acquiring them. Like the ‘angel’s lace’ spell.” They slid a look at Crowley. “But then someone comes along who isn’t playing by the same rules and an unwary wizard ends up getting a nasty shock coming back at them through the post slot.”

“It wouldn’t’ve worked on a fireball,” Crowley protested.

“True enough.” They sipped their cocoa. “How would you have dealt with a fireball?”

“Depends,” Crowley shrugged, smirking knowingly, gratefully, at their friend. “Where I am, what’s on hand to absorb or deflect the energy. That one who wanted to recruit the Black Knight, he tried one on me before you showed up and I blew it back at him with a gale spell.”

“I likely would have thrown a fireball in return,” Aziraphale answered. “Very showy, sometimes useful for intimidation but not terribly useful if you’re evenly matched and need to stop things quickly. Now with witches, it’s all about not using magic, correct?” Esk nodded again. “Which is why in a fair duel a witch will almost always win against a wizard, because the witch watches the wizard dance around, trying to be intimidating and by the end the wizard’s exhausted and demoralized and the witch has barely done a thing. But that won’t work on non-humans or celestials or even magicians from other cultures. It definitely won’t work against miracles. But a cleverly constructed shield spell with a self-actuating thaum receptacle would allow for powering defensive spells from what your opponent practically threw away.”

“Or you grab a rock,” smirked Crowley, getting a beaming smile from Aziraphale.

“Yes, you did end up dealing with that so-called hero quite neatly. Can’t dismiss the utility of a well placed trip hazard. Not something I would have ever thought of.”

“Yeah, instead you think up illusions that celestials can’t see through and Things can’t detect,” said Crowley, nodding at Esk’s amazed expression.

“Tell me about that!” she demanded.

“Oh, well, it took a lot of experimentation, and more than a few close calls, but we discovered that by blending a shadow spell with a moonlight spell, and utilizing the refractive properties of a prismatic cone, the arcane energies are masked as well as whatever the spell is hiding. Has it’s limitations of course, very bright directional light, making a loud noise-”

“Stabbing a Thing with a flaming sword,” commented Crowley.

“Stabbing a Thing,” conceded Aziraphale. “Or envenomating a Thing with a bite.”

Crowley shrugged. “I could never get it to last for more than a few minutes, too many fiddly bits to pay attention to.”

“Yes, well, that would be where practice comes in, wouldn’t it,” said Aziraphale sternly, sharing a look with Esk when Crowley made a dismissive noise and shrugged again. “Speaking of magic, Esk, are you familiar with what a sourcerer is?”

“Looks like that’s a yes,” said Crowley when she blanched. “Simon,” they realized.

“And you,” Aziraphale guessed. “My, that’s, well, to be expected I suppose, with what you were saying,” they said to Crowley. “If it’s in the seventh, then it’s in one through six as well.”

“Or they only notice when it’s a _magick_ number,” sneered Crowley, emphasizing the _ick_ , “and ignore it the rest of the time.”

“I’m the seventh,” Esk admitted. “That’s why I inherited the staff. He wasn’t even related to me I’ve been told, said the magic guided him to my family. My father’s a farrier. My mom’s a nurse. None of my sibs have magic like I do. They’ve got… the more earthy stuff. Kenning, uncanny luck, finding, that sort of thing.”

“And Simon?”

Esk shrugged. “He was a foundling. Went from home to home, ended up on his own at seventeen, when Treatle found him. Treatle made a pet of him, but no one said anything about sourcery until after we came back, but we’d both learned to contain it while we were stuck _there_ so they dismissed it, which, I assume they told you the repercussions of a sourcerer being discovered-”

They both nodded. “Well, there is another sourcerer, who is very untrained. Dangerous Beans. We put blessings on him, to keep his power contained but he will need your guidance.”

“Oh. Gosh.” She pressed a hand to her face. “This has to be a weird dream of some sort. I’m talking about rodent magicians with two celestial beings over cocoa. How is this my life?”

“Luck,” said Crowley, giving her a grin. “Pure bastard luck.” They drank the last of their cocoa and held out the mug. “Is there more? Cousin?”


	30. Relics Of A Bygone Era

They lingered over a second helping of cocoa, teaching Esk the shielding they had taught the witches the night before, and with a promise of a private tour of the Tower of Art when there weren’t a few hundred witnesses around, they took their leave. The bookfair was still going strong and Aziraphale gave a little sigh as they stepped out onto the green.

Crowley gave them a knowing look. “We can stay-”

“It’s sweet of you to offer but I’ve burdened you enough for today,” said Aziraphale, nodding towards the book-filled tartan bag Crowley was carrying. “Cringing your style-”

“Cramping,” Crowley corrected with a smirk. “And it is, a lot. Terribly. Horribly. Just-”

“You could change it,” said Aziraphale lightly as they fell into step together.

“Oh, but I’d know, underneath, that it was still fundamentally tartan,” Crowley said, watching their friend sidelong as they sighed over another booth but continued walking. “’Snot the same, really, doing for yourself.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale couldn’t really argue that point after the fuss they’d made about the paint on their coat. And it was true, it didn’t feel the same, doing something for yourself compared to when someone else did it for you. When someone who cared about you did it for you. They gave a surreptitious wiggle of their fingers and said, “I could carry them both if you’d rather.” They joined the line of people filing out through the crowded gate and looked around warily as Crowley joined them outside the wall of the University, nervously shifting their grip on the handle of the umbrella.

Crowley made a noise and shook their head. “I offered, didn’t I? I’m just teasing, angel.”

“You did, and I am very grateful.” They smiled at Crowley and together they crossed the street to wait for the bus back to the bookshop. “All in all a good day, don’t you think?”

“Eh, yeah, actually. Made some new acquaintances, did some good deeds,” they slid a look to Aziraphale, “balanced it out with a little mischief-”

“What? It was Karen, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale feigned a put-upon sigh. “What did you do?”

“Oh, just gave her some food for thought,” Crowley sniffed, unable to keep the smug smile from curling their lips. “You should’ve seen her face when Esk called me cousin, you could almost hear the gears grind to a halt.”

Aziraphale let out a chuckle that became a sigh. “I really need to figure out how to deal with the woman. I can’t put it off forever, well I could, but that wouldn’t solve anything. And I don’t like that she mentioned… er, that.”

“Yeah, that was weird,” Crowley agreed, following Aziraphale onto the bus and dropping onto the seat beside them, freezing in the act of putting the bag on their lap. It wasn’t the usual light tartan anymore, it wasn’t even the black and red tartan Crowley would never admit to finding slightly more palatable. Instead it was black with a fine pinstripe of purple that perfectly matched their coat’s colors and when they looked up, the reformed angel was looking forward and wearing just the slightest mischievous smirk.

“I understand that matching colors is considered fashionable,” Aziraphale said conversationally, risking a look at Crowley when they didn’t respond.

“Oh, er, depends on who you ask,” said Crowley, looking away. They set down the bag and casually rested their hand over Aziraphale’s. “Seems to change from week to week sometimes, but I’m in favor, myself.”

“The foibles of fashion.” Aziraphale shifted in their seat, letting their shoulder rest against Crowley’s. “I do hope Agnes remembered she could go inside the shop to get warm.”

Crowley chuckled. “She’s fine angel, I’m sure of it. ‘Snot even that cold.”

“Hmm.” They lapsed into comfortable silence, Aziraphale’s thumb stroking soothing circles over Crowley’s knuckles. It wasn’t a very long trip and they were soon walking down the block to the shop and Aziraphale frowned to see Agnes’ scooter was still parked on the curb.

“She’s fine, angel. Look,” Crowley said before Aziraphale could speak, pulling out their mobile and pulling up her contact information. “I’ll just check, alright?”

“Oh, actually, yes, do,” Aziraphale said, opening the door. Crowley followed them inside, passing them the bag, making sure the door was locked and Aziraphale found themself watching Crowley typing up a message. “How did, you said you used spells to be able to read?”

“What? Oh, yeah, the part that blocked reading only counted for Latin and Greek. And anything else was blurry and too bright, which gave me migraines.” The mobile chimed and they held it out so Aziraphale could read the message. “There, see, she’s fine, they’re all having lunch with Nanny and’ll be by later.”

“Thank you for checking,” they said, setting the bags beside their desk and sitting in their chair. “How did you manage to work around it?”

Crowley tucked their hands into their pockets and shifted restlessly, trying to figure out the best way to bring up what they remembered but not wanting to upset Aziraphale. “Hex helped me figure out the, wossname, parameters, since no one ever bothered to tell them to me. Spells on me didn’t work, but putting them on what I wanted to read brought them into focus, translated them into things I could read. Tinted lenses helped with the brightness, and I didn’t have to remember to hide my eyes all the time, so.” They shrugged. “Hex never told you? I assumed they had, since you started reading to me after...”

“They… kept me appraised of your general wellbeing, when they were aware of it,” Aziraphale said. It was clear that Crowley was upset by the recollection, but also needed to talk about it. “They told me you’d been cursed and what it entailed, but they’d never betray a confidence. And I enjoy reading to you, since you went to such trouble to teach me to read.”

Crowley shot them a smirk but shrugged again. “Wasn’t like I was keeping it secret, that’d I’d found workarounds. Heaven didn’t have a say anymore and Hell didn’t care, they thought it was funny, arseholes. Besides you, uh... Do you remember?”

“I do.” Aziraphale nodded solemnly, watching Crowley prowl restlessly around the shop. “The wherefores were hazy but I never forgot that day, the parts of it I was aware of.”

“I did, or they made me forget, who knows. Remembered while we were at Granny’s and you asked to read to me,” Crowley said, the tartan handkerchief tangled unseen around their fingers. “You got the worse part of that exchange,” they said to the floor, recalling all too vividly Aziraphale goading the Metatron into smiting them in Crowley’s place. And almost as an afterthought Crowley was inflicted with the curse crafted uniquely for Aziraphale. And that was the last they saw of each other until after the Fall, Crowley’s memories obscured by their hellish bindings. “Why’d you do it? You didn’t have to-”

“Yes, I most certainly did,” said Aziraphale. “There was a warning, thought my Slablet, of danger, that your destruction was imminent. I knew what to expect.”

Crowley stared at them in shock. “You _knew_ \- and you did it anyway.”

“One of the few brave things I’ve ever done.” They smiled faintly at the scoffing noise Crowley made. “Then the fall happened and I realize now they meant that for me too. And it would have worked,” Aziraphale admitted, staring down at Crowley’s ring, watching the colors swirl and shift as a spark of red began to glow in the center. “If they’d... if I’d done nothing while they accused and smited my best friend for breaking arbitrary rules I had broken right along with you. If they’d put that curse on me afterwards, so that I couldn’t read, couldn’t stand the light without pain. I wonder what I would’ve become, what I would have done.”

Crowley moved to stand beside Aziraphale’s chair. They looked back up at Crowley and for just a moment the light from the window reflected in Aziraphale’s eyes, turning the gold to flame, and Crowley had a heartfelt moment of relief that it had never happened that way. “I think,” Crowley said slowly, “that they don’t know how close they came to creating their own worst nightmare.”

Aziraphale took it as the compliment it was and gave Crowley’s arm a pat. “You say the sweetest things, my dear,” they teased, surprising a grin from Crowley. “And now we both get to aspire to that lofty and very worthy goal. How delightful!”

Crowley let out a laugh and sat down on the couch, changing the subject. “So, Hex.”

“Yes, that was rather interesting, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale said thoughtfully as they began rummaging around in their desk. “All this talk reminded me…” They let out a shuddering breath that had Crowley sitting up in concern, eyes going wide when they saw the reformed angel tenderly cradling the ancient Slablet they’d been assigned upon being promoted to the DEO. “It doesn’t really work right anymore, no surprise I suppose, and I kept meaning to turn it in but…”

“You had this on you when...” Crowley realized, tenderly accepting the enchanted marble tablet that was the size of a small hardback book, tracing their fingers over the blackened branching crack that should have shattered it. Aziraphale nodded. “Can you reach Hex with it?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale stood and waved Crowley over to their almost-as-ancient desktop computer and powered it on. It took a while to fully boot up but when it did the reformed angel gestured. “Put it on top of the monitor.”

The change was striking, the old monochrome display flickering into full color, displaying the interface for a Slablet, more so, the current interface for a Slablet, which resembled that of a smartphone. “How the-”

“I discovered it could do that quite by accident,” Aziraphale confessed. “I was too afraid to attempt using it, but now.” A shrug. “It should still have my contacts listed.”

Crowley sat in the chair and scooted it close, shaking their head at the ancient roller-ball mouse, and clicked on the ‘Contacts’ icon. Much faster than the real computer it pulled up a list of names and contact information. A quick search brought up Hex’s a Slab-address.

“We can try to reach them through the messengers app,” said Crowley, bringing it up. “Uh, Do you want to play a game?” they typed, hitting send. There was a faint chiming noise and the message winged away on cartoony wings.

The response was instant; a bright red error message that popped up in the center of the screen: Dog’s Barking, Can’t Fly Without Umbrella.

“Shit,” said Crowley, looking up at Aziraphale, who was twisting their hands together. “That wasn’t just a joke, they’re in trouble.”

“I think it might be time to ask Cerium for help,” agreed Aziraphale.

Crowley nodded, pulling out their mobile, texting a message to an oddly short number through a messenger service: Illegitimi non carborundum.

“That’s, what does that mean?” Aziraphale asked. “It’s not Latin.”

“No, told you, couldn’t read Latin. It’s a joke, fake Latin, means, ‘Don’t let the bastards get you down.’ That was one of our codes to get in contact-” They grinned when their mobile made a noise, nodding to see it was a message from an unlisted number with the proper response. A few more exchanges and Crowley said, “Where should we meet them?”

“I wish they could just come here,” Aziraphale admitted, staring worriedly at the error message, “but I suppose Biers is the safest place, now that we’ve blessed it. I do hope Maria and Igor don’t mind. The University is far too busy-”

“Wait, why can’t they come here?” Crowley asked, looking up from their mobile.

“Oh, well… I don’t know. It’s not protected like Biers is.” Aziraphale admitted, “They don’t know me the way they know you. Would they want to risk it?”

They typed in a query and soon got a response. “Five minutes,” Crowley grinned and stood up. “Just enough time to do a blessing.”

Aziraphale blinked at them. “What?”

“It’s your space now, all yours, so you can put whatever spells over it that you want. Including an outright blessing from a former demon,” Crowley said with a smile, rubbing their hands together and holding them out to Aziraphale under the center of the skylight. When Aziraphale just stared at them Crowley‘s smile slipped a little. “Unless you’d rather-”

“No no.” Aziraphale reached out, giving Crowley a tumultuous smile when they accepted the hug. “I much prefer doing things with you than without you,” they confessed. “I just, I never thought you’d offer that, be able to offer that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Crowley agreed lowly, letting out a sigh and stroking their hands soothingly over Aziraphale’s back. They closed their eyes and admitted. “It’s been pretty great, the last couple weeks, in spite of everything.”

Aziraphale pulled away enough to beam at Crowley. “Yes. I, it’s been like old times, really old times,” they smiled, making Crowley chuckle, “only better and I, I don’t have words, really.” At least, no words they were ready to say just yet. They cleared their throat and offered their hands. “Will you bless the bookshop with me, Crowley? Only right, you being part of this, since you’ve been a silent partner since the start.”

“I, huh?” Crowley canted their head when Aziraphale’s smile turned a little sly. “Tell me.”

“After the blessing,” Aziraphale insisted, making Crowley smirk but they complied. It took almost no time at all and when the former demon gestured for them to explain they said, “Well, I had to account for where the money came from, to buy the building, didn’t I? Couldn’t tell them my best friend _the demon_ bought it for me. So I said I’d found a human who wanted to invest in the property with me. And when I’d update my inheritance paperwork I would update the silent partner’s inheritance paperwork too.”

“Oh, somebody, do I even want to know what you named me?” Crowley asked with a grin. “Aloysius? Englebert? Slut Bunwalla?” They snorted out a laugh at Aziraphale’s expression and shook their head, waving it away. “It’s from a comedian, I’ll explain later. So what’s my human name then?”

“Well, it wasn’t terribly clever of me but Corax Occidens. And then Corvid Occidens inherited, and then his son Cormorant Occidens-”

“... _and Co!_ You put it on your sign.” Crowley laughed in earnest, heart doing a little tumble, and bumped their shoulder against Aziraphale’s. “Right under everyone’s nose. Well, over.”

“I did,” Aziraphale smiled. “Of course I could change it, if you wanted-”

“Oh, no, by all means keep up the Occidens family,” Crowley grinned.

“Oh, well, they’re the Ocellus family now,” said Aziraphale, turning away when they recalled what they had very impulsively named the most recent heir. “The Occidens had a bit of an accident,” they joked, grateful when Cerium knocked and they hurried to answer. “Do come in,” they said, gesturing for them to step inside and quickly closing and locking the door again, turning to offer their hand and a beaming smile. “How lovely to see you, Cerium, it’s been such a long time. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Aziraphale,” said Cerium, patting the reformed angel’s hand between both of theirs. “It is very good to see you. I am honored you would invite me into your...” They looked around and nodded. “Sanctuary.” They turned to Crowley and offered their hand and a smile.

“Good seeing you again,” said Crowley, offering their hand. “Everything going alright?”

“Well enough. I assume this is not just a social call?”

“No, not this time,” Crowley said. “Come look at this,” they urged, waving Cerium into the back room where the ancient PC was still displaying the user interface for a Slablet.

Cerium’s eyes went wide at seeing the interface and error message but gasped at seeing the ancient cracked Slablet resting on top of the monitor. “Is that..?” They turned to look inquisitively at Aziraphale, who nodded and gestured, giving permission for them to touch. “We thought it destroyed,” Cerium admitted, running their fingers over the Slablet. “How?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I did alter it quite significantly over the years,” Aziraphale admitted. “And it is a nexus.”

“Is the computer also enchanted and a nexus? That might help explain it, but even so. It’s so old, it shouldn’t be able to run this interface, it certainly shouldn’t be able to do whatever it is that it’s doing,” Cerium said with more than a little amusement in their voice. They shook their head in confusion at the error message. “But this. This is one of your codes, for needing a rescue,” they said to Crowley, who nodded.

“We were trying to get into contact with Hex and that’s the response we got.”

Cerium’s smile vanished. “What?”

“We got a, well, we think it was a message from Hex,” Aziraphale said, both of them telling Cerium about the strange interaction with the magical computer who bore the same name. “Have you been in contact with them? Do you know anything about a _usual time_ or what kind of password Hex might be looking for, if it even is Hex?”

“We have not be able to reach them for a few days now.” Cerium looked again for permission before seating themself in front of the computer, pulling up the clock which listed three different times; ethereal/abyssal time, local time, and UT, usual time, which was the time at the Library and its environs, that ran at a rate similar to earth’s. “Only we use UT, but ‘at our usual time’ is a euphemism for meeting in the Library. What were you doing before you received this message?”

“We, er, we asked them if they wanted to play a game,” Crowley said.

Cerium continued to fiddle with the hidden settings on the ancient Slablet, sitting back triumphantly when a command prompt window finally opened. “Tell me again what you said to get the password prompt?”

“Are you a Helpful Ethereal Xyloid,” Aziraphale answered, sighing with relief when the same password prompt appeared on the screen.

“We answered with ‘open in the name of heaven’ but it was in English so,” Crowley shrugged. “Maybe try Celestial?” Typing in the words in Celestial got them the same error. “Oh, wait… it can’t be that simple, can it? But no way _they’d_ know the reference, so it’d be safe enough to use.” Crowley smiled at Cerium’s confusion and Aziraphale’s exasperation and explained, “Well, the movie that line comes from, there’s an agent stuck behind enemy lines and they need a key to make a secure connection.” They carefully typed in, _B-Flat_.

The screen blanked and then burst into a spray of colors before settling into a dark purple-blue background with bright yellow text. +++ Hello Aziraphale... Crowley... Cerium. Waste no time typing, I can hear you through the Slablet. I should not keep the connection open long. The Library is under siege by the forces of Heaven and Hell. +++

“Because you blocked them from having access,” Aziraphale said, thinking of all the things they’d told Hex and the few major things that they hadn’t. They’d told Hex about the thwarting, hadn’t even hesitated, but had never thought to thank them. To tell them they cared. And now… Hex was a _friend,_ one of the few they’d had after the Garden and now they were in danger because of that friendship. “You shouldn’t have risked yourself that way.”

+++ It was wrong, what they decided, what they did! They have not upheld their pacts! We have fortified all we can but we can not hold them at bay indefinitely. My calculations estimate a breech will be achieved after the earth’s next equinox. +++

“What can we do?” Crowley asked, putting a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

+++ Open the way. You are our only hope. +++

“The way?” Cerium repeated, giving Crowley a look when they snorted. “To where?”

+++ Home +++ The screen glitched and went back to the normal Slablet interface.

“Home? What’s that supposed to mean, ‘home’?” Crowley asked.

Cerium typed in a query into the base of the obelisk-shaped search bar and a banner unfurled from the top of the obelisk; _Home: noun, 1. One’s place of origin. 2. A vital sensitive core. 3. One’s place of residence, past or present. Load more definitions?_

“Ohh! Oh, goodness, I used to tell them how much I missed _home_ when I…” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, hands twisted together. “I think they mean the Garden.”

Cerium’s brows drew together in confusion. “It was destroyed… wasn’t it?”

Crowley shrugged. “Discarded at any rate. They destroyed the Tree and vanished the entire Garden to who knows where.”

Aziraphale shook their head. “I don’t know anywhere else they could mean.”

Crowley hated to bring it up, hated to remember how close they’d come to losing Aziraphale, but reminded them, “After, after you died, you told me you’d felt the Tree.”

“I did?” Aziraphale pressed a hand to their forehead, trying to remember those memories faded by self-preservation. “I… yes, I did. I suppose, if it really is discorporation taken to an extreme, then with no tie to either Heaven or Hell...”

“You went home,” said Crowley in a gruff whisper, taking their hand. _Without me._

“No.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, tears in their eyes. “No, that wasn’t home. I was alone, afraid, in pain, trapped in darkness. I didn’t sense the Tree until after you came for me. You brought the stars with you and then you brought me back h-here, where I wanted to be.” _With you,_ they couldn’t say around the lump in their throat.

Crowley shook their head, but gently urged Aziraphale into a hug, both of them holding on tightly to one another. “I was going to find you or I was going with you,” Crowley confessed against their shoulder. “Couldn’t let you go either.” They sniffed and tried to tease, “Promised Warlock after all.”

There was a smile in Aziraphale’s voice as they whispered, “Ah. Of course.” They eased apart and Aziraphale magicked away the tears from Crowley’s coat, tenderly running their fingers over their best friend’s shoulder. “Always,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Always.” Crowley carefully fixed their lapels and brushed the wrinkles from the fabric before sliding their hand into Aziraphale’s, lacing their fingers together.

Aziraphale tried to fill the silence. “So it seems Hex thinks of the Garden as home too.”

“We spent a long time analyzing the obelisk’s spells, as ordered by the Councils. They have a very unique signature. Or perhaps I should say, dual signature,” Cerium said, their eyes locked on the monitor, trying to pretend they weren’t affected by what they had just overheard, especially that they had again come very close to losing their friends. “One that I was shocked to find at Biers last night, and again when I stepped inside and felt the blessings you had set over this place.” Cerium turned then, to look at the two of them, tears in their eyes. “Please, would you favor me, us, with more of your story? And what you know of Hex? They are not celestial in nature. Nor are they elemental. As best I and the others can surmise, they are a non-corporeal _earthly_ soul who has a powerful magical tie to the obelisk. ”

“Oh, er, I-” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who nodded and apologetically offered Cerium a handkerchief. “We don’t really remember, but we, uh, we knew each other before the Garden. Before we were part of the Host even. They took our names and memories when we became angels. Kept messing with our memories.”

“Hex told me I used to work in the Library, before I was sent to the Garden. And so much of the Garden was hauntingly familiar. Including Crowley,” said Aziraphale, giving their best friend a faint smile. “When I was sent to sort through the disaster the Archives had become, I found an order for the destruction of my best friend, scheduled for the same day they destroyed the Tree and vanished the Garden. I... burned it.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale an amazed look, a startled laugh bubbling up. “You _burned_ it.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile back. “I did. I was, well I suppose furious is the only word that does the feeling justice. Eventually I found a much earlier document, for the destruction of a celestial dragon whose name had been erased, but they were given a reprieve in exchange for another unnamed celestial’s surrender.”

“You,” guessed Cerium.

“Most likely. It always seemed too unlikely to be coincidence, that those documents ended up where I was likely to find them sooner rather than later. And then, that day, I received an odd message, warning me that Crowley’s destruction was imminent,” Aziraphale said, gesturing to the display from the cracked Slablet. “It looked the same as that one.”

Cerium said, “So Hex knew more than they were supposed to, but couldn’t say.”

“Hex said they hadn’t kept their pacts,” Crowley pointed out. “Meaning Heaven and then Hell obviously. So maybe they were conscripted, same as us? They wanted you for the sword and stuff, and Hex for running the Library…” They smirked. “And I must’ve really pissed them off, since they just wanted me dead.”

“Or perhaps,” said Cerium quietly, “they feared you.”

“They clearly couldn’t figure out a way to exploit you,” Aziraphale agreed. “They took power from the Garden, and from me, and from Hex, bound within the Library. But you…”

“Were the chain to shackle you,” said Crowley, looking down at their linked hands.

“No. Whatever happened is not our fault, but theirs. We thought they would play fair,” Aziraphale reminded them. “Now we know better. We don’t have to play their games anymore.”

“Oh we’ll play,” said Crowley with a sharp smile. “It just won’t be by their rules.”

“You said Hex showed you a game, when you were at the University?” Cerium asked.

“Serpents and Ladders. It, um, it was the same game we were playing before...” Aziraphale gestured to the damaged Slablet.

“Had them roll for us and we both ended up getting sent back to the first row.”

“Not three sixes,” Cerium said worriedly, sighing in relief when they both shook their heads. “I was worried Hex was giving you a message to give to us. Serpents and Ladders is so old that the newer protocols don’t work on it, but we’ve kept it active since it’s a favorite. It’s also a way to send coded messages if you input the rolls manually. Winning three rolls in a row means immediate danger, since it also loses the game.”

“Three sixes _loses_ , has that always been a rule?” Aziraphale asked, sharing a look with Crowley, who also clearly remembered the last time they’d played before the Fall.

“Hmm, yes,” Cerium answered, looking up from the computer. “Is that significant?”

“We, er, just remembering old times. Serpents and Ladders was the first game Hex taught us to play,” said Crowley with a shrug. “That last game, Aziraphale was close to the end and I’d been sent back to start and we both almost rolled three sixes but ended up together in the middle.” They laughed. “Shit, didn’t even think of that. Neither of Heaven or Hell, right where they ended up too.”

“I didn’t think of it either.” Aziraphale shook their head, smiling faintly. “They told us it was a popular game in Eden, do you remember? But it wasn’t Eden anymore and hadn’t been for a thousand earth years by the time they taught it to us. I wonder if that was another hint.”

Cerium turned back and clicked on the game’s icon, pulling up the game board. Their little avatars were still waiting on the bottom row. They all peered at the screen, really looking at the game’s background that they hadn’t paid attention to in millennia.

Aziraphale drew in a startled breath, pointing to draw their attention to the artwork around the edge of the game board. “Do you remember saving me from drowning?” they asked Crowley quietly. There were a lot of plants and animals and people doing everyday things, but at the top, the goal of the game, was what might have been the main hall of a palace, with a black pillar on one side, and a red one on the other, and in the center, a tall golden tower or spear… or obelisk. And integrated in the playing grid overlaid with serpents and ladders was a faint pattern that was clearly a tree when viewed from a distance. A fruit tree.

“Of course,” Crowley hissed. “Thought it was a temple, and it was, to the written word.”

“There was a temple in the Garden?” Cerium asked, startled.

“Not the Garden we were sent to,” Aziraphale said with a sense of reluctance, as though speaking the words somehow made the unsavory truth more real. “An earlier version.”

“There was a ruined hollow, hidden under the lake,” Crowley said, pointing at the pillars on the board. “We found a pair of shattered stone pillars in those colors.”

“And the base of the obelisk, it’s cracked, from blows from an ax,” Aziraphale added.

“So the obelisk and Hex were taken as spoils from this earlier Garden,” stated Cerium, turning in the chair to look at them. “And they took the Garden itself?”

They were both nodding. “We both had a feeling Hex knew us before we became angels,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully.

“That’s a damn long time ago, all the way back to when every place with even the slightest hint of magic had its own personal whatsits-” said Crowley.

“Guardian spirits,” said Aziraphale, getting a speaking shrug from Crowley. “Small gods,” they murmured thoughtfully under their breath, turning to stare at the screen. “Perhaps they didn’t take the magic from the Garden, perhaps it was the Garden they took from the magic.”

“There are places,” began Cerium hesitantly, turning around to look at the game board again. “Places where the planes meet, natural doorways between one world and the next. We have stories… of earthly and elemental and ethereal creatures crossing through and being Changed. Usually these places move with the natural ebb and flow of the planes, but they can be anchored, harnessed even. Might this earlier Garden have been such a place?”

Aziraphale was nodding, staring hard at the game. “Those who discovered such a place, they wouldn’t want to keep everyone out, so there would need to be a way to guide others there.” They traced a finger over the longest ladder up to the middle square. “But they’d need to protect it, make it difficult to find by those who meant harm.” They followed the longest serpent that went from the last square back down to the middle square. “It’s a map. The goal isn’t the top, it’s the center, and the the serpents and ladders depict rivers and hidden paths.”

“The entire Garden was a magical crossroads, and the obelisk and the pillars were anchors and a signpost,” said Crowley with sudden understanding. “And then they mucked about and the Garden became unanchored. But, the Tree, how’d the Tree survive?”

“The Host had to be maintaining it with copious amounts of magic,” Aziraphale said. “That would explain what attracted the Things, and allowed them to break through.”

“True,” Crowley agreed. “But, gah, how do we find it now that it’s, wherever it is? Not on earth, seems unlikely to be on the elemental plane,” they said, getting a nod from Cerium.

“There’s your answer,” said Aziraphale grimly. “Somewhere between the ethereal and abyssal sides of the celestial plane.”

“But how do we find it?” said Crowley, raking their hands through their hair. “We’ve only got a few weeks until the equinox.”

“Yes. As it is I’m not sure how we’ll…” Aziraphale gasped, looking at the two of them with eyes wide. “Hex said _we,_ _we_ fortified the library. Are there-”

Cerium was already shaking their head in answer. “All of my people are accounted for. But you are right, they did say we, a few times. Would, could there be deserters hiding there?”

“I don’t know of any angels that were unaccounted for,” said Aziraphale, looking towards Crowley questioningly. “Besides me.”

“I don’t- Oh,” said Crowley, pacing when a sudden thought struck them. “Er, when the horn sounded, you, uh, I know I felt the summons but being earthbound it didn’t-”

“No, it didn’t effect me either, but it did call the archangels back to heaven. In fact, if Shadwell hadn’t backed me into the circle-” Aziraphale sniffed. “I was planning on just leaving it open and, well, moot now.”

“But, the horn, it _summons,_ yeah? Makes both sides show up, right?”

Aziraphale and Cerium were both looking at Crowley quizzically. “Yes.”

“Shit.” Crowley paced the space with a sinking feeling, more and more sure they were right. “I think I know who’s in the Library with Hex.”

“Who?”

“Raphael. And Andras,” said Crowley with a shake of their head to forestall either of them asking questions. “They faked their deaths. I, er, I helped them do it.”

“Oh. They would certainly be powerful enough to reinforce the barriers,” Cerium said. “As for finding the Garden, we would need something that was of the original Garden to enable a searching or scrying spell. The obelisk would be the obvious choice but it’s not exactly accessible at the moment.”

Aziraphale nodded in agreement and let out a heavy sigh. “The obelisk would be perfect. I suppose...” They stared off into the distance, both Cerium and Crowley waiting expectantly for them to continue. “Cerium, can you, do you know anything more about the sword?”

“The sword was returned to the Vault of Heaven, but I do not think that was what you wanted to know.” Cerium considered for a moment. “It is called the Burning Brand but there is not much else known about it. All the swords in heaven are based off of it.”

Crawly gave Aziraphale a pointed look that said, _told you so_ , and Aziraphale gave them a faint smile and shrugged. Crowley asked Cerium, “Is it checked on very often? What of the scales? Or the crown?”

“The Diadem of Dawn and the Scales of Justice.” Cerium blinked. “All the relics were yours?” they asked, getting a reluctant nod from Aziraphale. Cerium leaned back in the chair, looking from Aziraphale to Crowley and back again. “They are from the earlier Garden?”

“We, er, we found them there,” Aziraphale admitted. “Well, the diadem and the scales. Gabriel gave me the sword, said I was to have it to guard the Garden by orders from the Almighty. Which, if you’re right,” they said to Crowley, “would be how and when they bound everything together.”

“What’s this?” Cerium asked.

“We, well, Crowley initially, but I find with all the mounting evidence that I must agree, think that my heavenly mark, the gold ring I used to wear, that it somehow bound my power to the swords the angels use,” Aziraphale explained. “And now that my bond is broken and my oath unspoken, the swords aren’t working anymore.”

“We had a run in at Biers, anyone tell you?” Crowley asked. Cerium shook their head and they related the story, Aziraphale retrieving the sword from where it was hidden inside the umbrella. “There’s a verse on the throat; _Kept aflame by oath-bound ring, Rise aloft to hew and swing, the Burning Blade for blood sings_.”

Cerium canted their head, staring down at the deteriorating bronze sword. “If there are words on your sword, they have been hidden. There are no words on the other items either.” They let out a heavy sigh and pushed up to their feet. “I think I need to speak with the others. Perhaps with brainstorming, we will be able to come up with an idea or plan or something.”

“Whatever you decide, we want to help,” said Crowley. “We, eh, we’ve made some more friends, hu-, well mortals. We’re going to be meeting in Biers on Sunday, one o’clock. You could come observe, meet them if you like. Good sorts.”

“I will discuss it with the others and let you know as soon as I know anything,” Cerium promised, accepting and patting their hands in the usual elemental farewell. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, for coming. If, when, things are settled, please feel free to call or visit,” Aziraphale urged. “And extend the invitation to the others if you would?”

“I will.”

Aziraphale let them out, letting out a heavy sigh and returning to their desk to put the sword away again. “Not the best end to the day. Poor Hex! And, I just, _Raphael_ ,” they said, shaking their head in shock. “I never would have thought it of them.”

“Plotting?” scoffed Crowley, desperately wishing there was a way to mitigate the hurt they knew they were about to cause.

“Oh no, I know that, I mean turning away from the Host,” Aziraphale corrected. “Especially as one of the Council. I suppose I should have known better, considering the other plots we’ve come across.” When that didn’t get the amused response they expected, when their friend continued prowling restlessly, Aziraphale gently told them, “I don’t need to know, Crowley. I do understand if you’d rather not say. They took you in confidence, not me.”

“No, that’s, unless you’d prefer I not tell you?” they asked, looking away when Aziraphale shook their head. Crowley paced some more, almost afraid to look their way, explaining, “They were the ones who enacted the plot. The nazis, the cider.”

“What? But-” Aziraphale lowered themself onto a chair. “I don’t understand?”

“Raphael recruited Andras to make the cursed cider, using hellfire as a way to, I don’t know, contaminate you? Then the curse was supposed to make you do something to fall. Raphael called you a relic, kept on that you were supposed to end up a demon with the rest of us bastards. That you being in the host was risking the law of contagion.”

Aziraphale stared at them, unsure what to do or think. “When did you find out?”

Crowley let out a bitter laugh. “Right after- I ended up back at the church. Apparently Andras saw me there, assumed it was still holy ground-”

“It was still holy ground,” Aziraphale corrected, smiling faintly when Crowley froze and turned to look at them. “I would know, wouldn’t I? And there you were, just cleaning your glasses like it was nothing, a demon standing in the middle of a sanctified church.”

“You mean I could’ve just-” Crowley spluttered and ended up laughing though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Anyway, Andras saw me, probably meant to keep it to themself but Raphael made them talk. Then the basin of holy water reappeared and Andras almost got a bath.”

“Ooh, I, wait, almost?” Aziraphale sat up, shocked, “Do you mean-”

“Raphael saved them.” Crowley rubbed at their eyes, that part of the memory startlingly clear. “An angel saved a demon from holy water and Andras begged Raphael to run away with them, hatched a plot right there for how they could get away with it. See, Andras knew I was there, but there was someone else there too, a human. And when they left their bodies, the human threw a bottle of the hellfired cider and it hit the holy water and boom, no more bodies, no more holy ground, and one very drunk demonic witness to give them an alibi.”

The parallels were clear and the differences painfully sharp. Aziraphale looked down and away, pulling out the black handkerchief to press to their eyes. _Oh no… No wonder they thought I would be upset by the card! I betrayed them and rejected their overtures to escape together, how could they think otherwise? And still they wish to be my friend. I don’t deserve them._ After a long moment Aziraphale cleared their throat, putting the handkerchief away, and made themself say, “And you think the horn called them back.”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded, pressing the heel of their hand to that familiar old ache over their heart at hearing the pain in Aziraphale’s voice. _Unforgivable._ “Rose said Lu-Tze was seen during the Blitz?” Crowley dared to look at Aziraphale then, trying to decipher their expression.

“He helped me, after. Delivered a message for me,” said Aziraphale, staring down at the their hands and at Crowley’s ring, watching a blotch of gray expand and swirl with orange and that ever-present edge of purple. “And to me?” Crowley nodded. “He mentioned the suicider many years later in passing and I remember thinking it was a fitting name. Horribly fitting.”

“Yeah.” The silence was growing oppressive when Crowley’s mobile made a noise and they both jumped. Crowley scrambled for it, frowning down at the screen. “It’s Agnes. They spent longer than they thought with Nanny so Cacia’s going to drop her off at work and she’ll come get the scooter tomorrow.”

“Ah. Um, please thank her for letting us know.”

“Yeah.” Crowley quickly sent a reply and shoved the mobile back into their pocket, trying to find the right words. “Angel-”

“I think that’s enough for today, don’t you?” Aziraphale asked. They didn’t bother to hide the worry in their eyes, or the tired slump of their shoulders when Crowley turned to look at them. “How would you feel about going back to the flat?”

“I, yeah, alright.” Crowley felt a sense of relief, when Aziraphale got up and gathered up the umbrella-sheathed sword. For a moment they’d been afraid Aziraphale was telling them to leave. They followed their friend from the shop, both silent as they walked, Crowley’s thoughts going around in a little spiral of anger and sadness. They hated themself for not telling Aziraphale sooner, hated knowing their friend had every right to be furious that a so-called friend had helped the ones trying to bring them down. And had kept it secret from them.

Aziraphale couldn’t keep their thoughts from going back to that night, the hazy moment of euphoria and then despair that had lingered for weeks. Grandmother Chan had made a point of checking in on them, forcing them to play the host so they couldn’t just sit and collect dust while the war went on around them, and had cajoled and teased until Aziraphale had given in, letting her bring in a handful of helpers to take away the couch and rearrange the shop. There hadn’t been a couch again until almost forty years later, when Crowley had convinced Aziraphale to clean up the shop and actually sell things again. _Even after everything, they showed me kindness,_ Aziraphale thought, blinking away more tears. _And I repaid them with selfishness._

When they arrived at the flat, Crowley hesitated but moved to help Aziraphale from their coat, relieved when they didn’t reject the overture. They were surprised when Aziraphale returned the gesture, though the reformed angel didn’t say anything, clearly lost in thought.

“Music?” Crowley made themself say, breaking the silence, barely waiting for Aziraphale to nod before snapping their fingers, the speakers gently starting to play one of their favorites, something low and soothing.

Aziraphale let out an unconscious sigh and moved into the office, putting the sword away in the safe, finding themself at a loss for what to do next. They weren’t exactly sleepy, but there was a feeling of tiredness and sadness and worry that had them sinking down onto the couch and closing their eyes. They could hear Crowley moving around and when they started to move away Aziraphale said lowly, “Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

“May I borrow your bed?” The height of selfishness, to ask that of their friend, but there was no place safer, and right now they desperately needed to feel safe. They were already asking for too much, they wouldn’t burden Crowley further by asking to be tended.

“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” Crowley agreed, settling down on the other end of the couch. They wanted to offer, ached to offer, but when Aziraphale got up without saying anything, Crowley swallowed the words down, withdrew their aura and watched their best friend walk away.


	31. I'll Be Your Mirror (Friday)

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much time had passed since they had laid down alone in the big bed, how long they had lain curled up around one of the many pillows that smelled impossibly like moonlight and autumn breezes. It felt like no time at all, but also an eternity as their thoughts went around and around about all that had happened and was happening. And Crowley, it always came back to Crowley.

With a heavy sigh Aziraphale sat up and returned the pillow to Crowley’s side of the bed- startled to realize that sharing had become enough of a habit over the few brief previous nights that part of what was bothering them was that it felt wrong to not have Crowley there.

Aziraphale sat staring at Crowley’s side of the bed for a long moment before easing themself out from under the covers. They stepped out of the bedroom, startled to find the flat dark and quiet. They found Crowley sprawled on the couch, tangled up in the black and red tartan blanket, an arm thrown over their eyes though there was only a little ambient light filtered in through the blinds, just barely enough to illuminate the room to Aziraphale’s eyes.

The sight of Crowley looking so uncomfortable sent a stab of guilt through the reformed angel. They stepped closer and whispered, “Crowley?” When there was no answer Aziraphale moved closer yet, and again whispered their name, getting no response. They crouched down beside the couch, thinking to gather up their sleeping friend and set them in the bed so they could at least rest comfortably.

“Going to smother me in my sleep?” Crowley asked, smirking a little when Aziraphale fell over with a startled gasp and pressed a hand to their chest. “Wouldn’t blame you.”

“What? No, don’t be silly.” Aziraphale laid on the floor for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to help slow their racing heart before sitting back up.

“What were you doing then?”

“I was, well, I was going to bring you, er, carry you, put you to, ahem, let you sleep in your own bed,” Aziraphale stammered, flustered by the heavy-lidded look Crowley was giving them. “Like, like I did the night after we, er, came back.”

Crowley blinked at that. “Oh. Why?”

“Why?” Aziraphale repeated, confounded by the question. “I, but, it’s your bed! You should get to sleep in it I should think. Rather, well, rather selfish of me to make my best friend sleep on a couch in their own home. And you, I, I couldn’t sleep anyway...”

“Yeah, me neither,” Crowley said, staring at Aziraphale, all the thoughts that had been keeping them awake still circling and they finally blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale blinked and gave them a playfully scolding frown. “Yes, well, it’s a good thing I don’t really have a dodgy spleen, who knows what might have happened, you scaring me that way. Why didn’t you answer? You, oh, you wanted me to leave-” _you to rest,_ Aziraphale didn’t get to finish.

“No,” Crowley caught hold of Aziraphale’s sleeve before they could think of moving away, “don’t go.” They closed their eyes and let out a breath when Aziraphale gave them a concerned look. “I should’ve told you, about the plot and helping them and I-”

Understanding had Aziraphale taking Crowley’s hand in their own. “I’m not angry,” they tried to soothe, frowning when Crowley shoved themself to their feet and started pacing.

“You should be.” Crowley raked their fingers through their hair, rubbing at their eyes. “You’ve got every reason to be.”

Aziraphale stood, watching Crowley’s expression, trying to puzzle out what was bothering them. “Because you helped them escape?” An angry nod. “But you couldn’t… help me escape?” Another nod. “You couldn’t help yourself either,” Aziraphale gently reminded them. “But you did help me, you did and I was so grateful-”

“I didn’t do it for your gratitude,” Crowley snapped, rubbing their hand over their face. “Sorry, I’m mad at myself. I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” Aziraphale touched Crowley’s hand and offered their outer aura so Crowley could sense the truth of their words. “Crowley, I’m not angry at you.”

Crowley sucked in a shuddering breath at the sensation of their outer auras re-entwining, having half-convinced themself that Aziraphale would never want the contact again. “They wanted to hurt you and I-”

“Were kind. And clever. You couldn’t fight them and hope to win, you wouldn’t run. But they couldn’t use your secret against you, against us, if they weren’t on the planet anymore,” Aziraphale pointed out. “It put them in your debt.”

“That was just a side effect,” Crowley protested.

“Be that as it may, it worked.” Aziraphale knew Crowley well enough to know when there was something else eating at their friend. “So why did you help them?”

“Because-” _Because they could have what we couldn’t._ Crowley pressed the heel of their free hand to their eyes, the words lodging in their throat. “Because it felt right I guess.” They let out a heavy sigh. “I was angry, so angry, hearing them at first, I probably would have done something ssstupid but then the font reappeared and…”

“You chose to do good. To be kind.” Aziraphale, pretending to be smug, said, “ _Nice._ Just like I always said you were.”

Crowley made a disgusted noise but a smile began to curl their lips. “Couldn’t let that one go, could you.” They shook their head and had to ask, “Why aren’t you mad?”

“Well, I mean, I’m not particularly happy with _them_ ,” Aziraphale pointed out. “But you did the best you could in very trying circumstances. Telling me wouldn’t have made anything better, for either of us. Very well might have made it worse.”

“How?” said Crowley with a shake of their head.

Aziraphale let out a sigh. “I probably wouldn’t have believed you. As it was, you walking on holy ground had already made me think you were trying to trick me,” they explained apologetically. “Why else would you be there? Real feather in your wing, seducing an angel-” Aziraphale found themself face to face with Crowley, their noses almost touching, Crowley’s hands holding onto their shoulders.

“You were never, _never_ , an assignment,” Crowley hissed.

“No, I know, Crowley, I’m sorry,” they apologized, unable to look away from Crowley’s eyes, stunned at the pain in them. “Terrible joke on my part.”

Crowley closed their eyes, and let the words spill out into the darkness. “I never wanted you to- I wasn’t trying to make you fall. I almost made you fall… Unforgivable.”

“No, I never thought that of you,” Aziraphale confessed in a whisper, drawn by the pain in Crowley’s expression. “Drunk as I was, I still took that step with my eyes open. I… That night, I was offering to join you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Crowley gasped, staring at them in shock. “Aziraphale-”

“I wasn’t thinking about the consequences, obviously. How impossible it would be. What they would do to you if we’d...” Aziraphale closed their eyes, heart pounding, and admitted, "I just wanted so desperately to be closer to you, to make it so I wouldn’t be alone anymore. It had been so long without you in my life, Crowley and it made me so happy to have you there that I couldn’t see any other way." They opened their eyes, searching Crowley’s face, hoping for some sign that they understood, but it was unreadable in the dimness. “But you’re here now, after everything... I can’t ask for more than that.”

“Ask me,” Crowley whispered, beginning to wonder if they’d fallen into some weird dream. Their angel had wanted closeness, had offered something Crowley hadn’t even let themself think about. And it seemed they might still want that closeness. Or perhaps it was a nightmare, to wake up from and have their heart broken all over again. “Anything. Anything for you, always.”

Aziraphale closed their eyes against the sting of tears and hope and said, “It, the bed, it wasn’t right without you there. Would… will you tend me?”

“Yes, ‘course.” The words burst forth on the breath Crowley hadn’t realized they’d been holding. They took Aziraphale’s hand, guiding them towards the bedroom and had to ask, “Did you really carry me? I mean, I know you can, but I don’t remember-”

“You were asleep,” Aziraphale reminded them, unable to keep a smile of relief and happiness contained. It was the height of impulsiveness but Aziraphale bent and scooped Crowley into their arms before their friend even realized what they were doing.

Crowley squawked and spluttered in surprise, clinging to Aziraphale’s shoulders, heart soaring to feel their friend’s laughter. “You bastard, that was for scaring you, wasn’t it.”

“Possibly,” Aziraphale grinned, setting them down when they were beside the bed. Some of the lightness of the mood faded and they twisted their hands together. “Are you sure? I know it’s a lot to ask-”

“‘Snot,” Crowley interrupted. “I wanted to offer but I, uh, figured you were mad, so.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale climbed onto the bed, waiting until Crowley had joined them to unfurl their wings and drape one over Crowley’s lap. A shuddering sigh escaped them, as well as a few tears, when Crowley began soothing the feathers. “I’m so worried for Hex.”

“Yeah,” Crowley sighed, some of their own tension easing at the contact. “But you’re not, _we’re_ not alone. Not this time. We’ll figure something out. Together.”

“Together,” Aziraphale sighed, letting their eyes drift closed. “Thank you, my dear, for this. For everything. I always…”

Crowley gave them a look when they didn’t finish the thought, wondering if they’d fallen asleep, dismayed to find Aziraphale silently crying. “Hey, what-”

“I ask far too much of you and I’m so so lucky and grateful that you still, after everything, that I haven’t lost you.” A sob escaped when Crowley gathered them into a hug and Aziraphale curled their wing around them, cocooning them together.

“You can’t ask too much of me, ‘snot possible,” Crowley murmured, gently stroking their hand over Aziraphale’s hair. When the tears began to subside Crowley added playfully, “Well. Except tartan.”

A soggy laugh escaped from Aziraphale and they accepted the black handkerchief Crowley offered with a tremulous smile. “Ah, yes, I-”

“Even then, I’d suffer through,” Crowley added, adopting the wrist to forehead pose, fighting to keep from grinning when Aziraphale giggled. “Best friend and all that.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale caught them in another hug. “My dearest dearest friend. I, I’d, well, I can’t think of anything quite as tremendous as you enduring tartan but whatever it would be, I would do it for you. I would, ah, I’d listen to bebop, a whole rec- CD of it!”

Crowley let out a raucous laugh and pressed a fond kiss to Aziraphale’s hair before they even realized what the urge was, heart stuttering when they froze. “Th-that’d be pretty awful,” Crowley stammered out, heart soaring when Aziraphale quickly relaxed back into the embrace. “Dunno if I could live with myself, asking that of you. Might be a step too far, asking for _bebop_.”

Aziraphale chuckled, heart soaring, feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders. “For you my dear, I would suffer through anything. Even bebop.”

“Yeah?” Crowley murmured, meeting their eyes when they looked up. “Now? While I tend you?” When Aziraphale nodded Crowley snapped their fingers and, just loud enough to be heard, 'I’ll Be Your Mirror' from The Velvet Underground started to play.

Aziraphale’s response was to pull away with a dramatic gasp, theatrically fluttering the black handkerchief and their wings as though they were about to expire before collapsing in a pretend faint, dropping their wing over Crowley’s head, grinning when Crowley burst out laughing and tugged their wing into a better position for grooming. “Daft bugger, quit fluttering.”

“...As you wish.”

Crowley darted a look at Aziraphale, sure they had heard them whisper _that phrase_ , but the reformed angel had their eyes closed, a faint smile curling their lips and the former demon shrugged it off, happily sinking their fingers into Aziraphale’s feathers to begin setting them to rights.


	32. Bell, Book, and Boffo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madam Tracy, AKA Marjorie Potts, goes to visit one of her oldest friends, Eunice. Shadwell finds a dangerous new stream of revenue but gets distracted by a couple of witches.

Marjorie, aka Madame Tracy, set a pot of tea and an opened tin of condensed milk on the table beside Shadwell’s chair, crowded in beside a plate heaped with leftovers from their dinner the night before. “Alright Mr. S, I shouldn’t be long. You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Aye, er, I’ll be fine Marjorie,” he mumbled, blushing as she stroked her hand over his shoulder and favored him with a sweet smile. “T-thanks.”

“My pleasure, Mr. S.” She gave his arm a pat and quietly shut the door to his flat, gathering up her things and leaving the building. She hurried down the sidewalk, pulling out a balled up tissue and pressing it to her eyes, dabbing away the tears that always seemed so close to spilling over. She was at the end of her rope and hanging on with sheer will alone.

It had been so wonderful in the beginning. Sure there had been a few little bumps but that was to be expected, wasn’t it? But now those bumps were turning into bottomless pits and she knew it was only a matter of time until there was no going back.

She’d talked to her few close friends, but they clearly thought she was crazy. Everyone was pretending nothing had changed! Except, well, there was one person who hadn’t dismissed her, but to go there… If anyone spotted her… but what choice did she have?

She hesitated on the sidewalk, staring up at the garish sign but when someone walked out she scooted inside, cringing a little when a loud bell rang to announce her. She wound her way through the maze of displays to the familiar back room where she knew she would find- “Eunice?”

“Mar- Madame Tracy! Well this is a surprise,” said Eunice with a smile, getting up to give her old friend a hug. “You changed your hair! Very fifties housewife- oh lawks, what’s wrong?”

“It’s all gone wrong, Eunice!” Marjorie wailed, the dam broken, accepting a handful of fresh tissues and allowing her oldest friend to usher her down to the basement.

“Alright, let’s get some tea and then you can tell me all about it, hmm?” soothed Eunice, steering Madame Tracy to a seat and patting her on the shoulder, noticing the very plain clothes she was wearing. “Oh dear, is this about your gentleman? You said you didn’t want to discuss it over the phone...”

“No. Yes. Maybe?” Marjorie sniffled and blotted at her face.

“You know changing for someone else-”

“I know! But it wasn’t just for him. Not really. You know I’ve been talking about giving up the _discerning gentlemen_ for a while now, not that there were a lot of them left at my age, just a few of the professors from the University. But I’m sure after what happened last Saturday my mediuming days are over too. That’s all I’ve got left to live on! You remember what happened the last time a real spirit…” Marjorie broke off her words, flushing at the pointed look Eunice gave her as she poured out the tea into a pair of battered old mugs.

“But it wasn’t you that got possessed that time,” said Eunice thoughtfully. “It’ll only make you more of an interest, once word gets out you had a real possession. Especially what with you taking on Beryl Ormerod, the others will put in good word for you, I’m sure of it,” said Eunice, and her expression made it clear they’d be doing it if they liked it or not. “So, you never really said who it was who came through. The troubled spirit of Susie Homemaker?” she teased, knowing her point had struck home when Marjorie sighed heavily and plucked despondently at the very nice beige blouse that in combination with her blue skirt and practical brown shoes made her look like an escapee from a Norman Rockwell poster.

“I just want to put Mr. S at ease,” Marjorie explained in a small voice. “Not like I need to keep up the, the _look_ , now that I’m retired.”

“But you _liked_ the look,” said Eunice, thumping her hand on the arm of her chair. “And the man must’ve liked the package well enough, since you’re still you underneath it all. Putting on a different coat of paint doesn’t turn a palace into a bungalow.”

“But Mr. S-”

“Fuck Mr. S!”

“Not as yet.” Marjorie blushed crimson when she realized she’d said it out loud and Eunice burst into laughter. “I don’t want to rush him! He’s not exactly young and I, uh, I think it’s been a rather long time for him. He’s been alone for a long time.”

Eunice watched her friend’s face soften into fond lines and shook her head to realize Marjorie had really fallen for the old curmudgeon. “And you’ve been lonely too. Oh, don’t try that look on me, Marjorie Tracy Potts, I’m the one who taught it to you. So you’re going to be alone together, is that it? At what price?” Eunice gestured at the boring clothes and bland blond hair and the withered posture. “Giving up everything that’s been your life up ‘til now? Love doesn’t work that way! It’s barely been a couple of weeks and you look like you’re ready drop.”

“That’s not Mr. S’s fault! It’s the blasted nightmares! I can’t get a wink of sleep, and when I do it’s full of nightmares and visions. That’s why I’m here, Eunice, I need your help! I can’t get it to stop! Even now I can hear this faint whispering, like people talking about me the next room over, and they’re staring at me something fierce, like I’m dinner!”

“Oh.” Eunice sipped her tea and then got up to get a few of the more magical items she kept around for emergencies. She lit a couple sticks of incense and grabbed a trio of charged crystals and battery-powered tealight candles and a plain tub of salt that she’d had blessed by a certain pair of visitors.

She poured a thin line of salt in a triangle around Marjorie’s chair and placed the tealights at the points and the crystals along the sides and then waved the incense around Marjorie, starting a low droning chant of “Illegitimi non carborundum.” When the timing felt right, and Marjorie’s eyes started to water from the smoke, Eunice said in a big booming voice, “I banish thee, unwelcome spirits! She is protected! Bother her nevermore!”

There was a faint cacophonous wail from all around them and the smoke vanished from within the triangle as though it had never been. It took everything Eunice had to not gape in shock the same way Madame Tracy was. She’d never had it work that well or that fast before and she looked down at the tub of salt in new appreciation.

“Oh, Eunice, it, they’re gone!” Marjorie pressed the tissues to her face as tears of relief welled up. “That’s the first I’ve had just my own thoughts since I woke up Sunday last!”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?” Eunice demanded. “You only said you’d had a ride-along visitor and a very odd Saturday but clearly it was a lot more than just that. Everyone had a bloody odd Saturday.”

“I, well, I… I thought I just wasn’t trying hard enough. Or my ingredients had gone bad. What I used to do worked just fine after the séance with you,” Marjorie admitted. “Worked fine every other time I’ve needed it.”

“Who taught you that?” Eunice asked. “It’s almost impossible for components to go bad.”

“Oh, well… Some of the discerning gentlemen, they, er, dabbled in the occult, and they taught me some things. Seemed to amuse them, teaching me things. Said it was against the rules to teach women, so I never let on how easy is was, following the directions in the little books they gave me, drawing out the marks and whatnot. But their tricks aren’t enough any more.”

Eunice blinked and tried to make sense of what she was hearing. “Your visitors, from the University, taught you magic? Ritual magic? From books?”

“A few of them, yes. It made them feel special and important, which was really all most of them ever wanted from me. And breaking rules, well, you know how some people are about that.” Marjorie looked down at the salt triangle and shook her head. “They told me it had to be special salt! And special incense. And special crystals-”

“The only thing special is that I believe in them. Well, the salt was blessed by some special friends of mine, but it works because I believe in them and their power. So I’m guessing you stopped believing in what the wizards taught you.”

Marjorie snapped her head up to stare at Eunice, trying to decide if her friend was making fun of her. It was bad enough the others liked to imply she wasn’t really a witch, since she couldn’t do things the way they did. She couldn’t stand it if Eunice started poking fun at her too. “Wizards?”

“Had to be,” Eunice said. “Don’t know anyone else stupid enough to think women aren’t smart enough to learn their _special_ magic. It’s no different from witchery except they charge four times the price for a quarter of the effort. I get wizards in here all the time, buying my pre-enchanted things, but I have to tell them my sons did the work otherwise it’s suddenly no good.” Eunice sighed and poured herself more tea. “Even some self-proclaimed witches think that way, like it’s not real witchery if a man does it. Nonsense.”

“Isn’t there a difference?” Marjorie asked. “Between witches and wizards?”

“No, ‘course not. It’s like cooking; some people prefer a recipe, right? With everything all exact and measured out just so. And they follow it exactly and it works out fine, or not. And then there’s those who prefer to just put things together, a little different each time, and it works out fine, or not. But they’re both cooking, whatever the result is or how they got there, it’s just the famous ones get to call themselves chefs and the other ones get called cooks.” Eunice gave Marjorie a long look, reading something in her expression that had her asking, “You know witches are a thing, Marjorie, why are you shocked by the idea of wizards?”

“I… I’m not shocked, exactly, but… Mr. S, he, told me he did magic! And he’s been having bad dreams too, though he won’t tell me what they’re about.”

“So he’s a wizard,” shrugged Eunice.

“No, no, that’s just it, he didn’t do it the way the gentlemen did, or the way I do. He… It was the way you do it.” A shocked laugh escaped her. “I think he’s the witch. And maybe… I’m a wizard?”

Eunice frowned but shook her head. “You’re whatever you want to call yourself, Marjorie dear; Madame Tracy, witch, wizard, magician or none of the above. No one else gets to tell you who or what you are. But it seems like you’ve had a magical awakening, and it’s not going to go away on its own. Probably get worse. Now I do happen to know a few wizards who aren’t pillocks who’d be willing to help you out, since you seem to have an affinity for ritual magic. And I’d be willing to show your Mr. S a few things, if you think he’d be willing?”

“Oh.” Marjorie shook her head. “I don’t know, Eunice, I mean, he was a _witchfinder,_ it might just kill him, to find out he’s one of the enemy. It was hard enough to get him to believe the world was ending, even with the angel talking through me-”

“Wait, what? You-” Eunice set down her mug before she dropped it. “You’re the one Aziraphale possessed? You were in Tadfield?”

“Yes- wait, how’d you know his name was Aziraphale?” Marjorie responded.

“ _They_. They don’t have genders or sexes,” Eunice corrected absently. “That would certainly explain the awakening, being possessed by an angel, especially that one. I met them ages ago, because of the ghost I met at your séance, actually. You remember me doing the curse?” Marjorie nodded. “Well, that was the start of it. You, er, met the other one, Crowley?”

“Oh yes, she… they? Er, they showed up not long after we did, driving a fireball of a car if you can imagine, more flame than metal but somehow still driving. My heart just about jumped out my chest from Aziraphale’s response to seeing them and, oooh.” She gave Eunice a shocked look when understanding hit, getting a nod in answer. “No.”

“Yes. For a long time. Forever maybe, they didn’t actually say.”

“Really? But he’s- they're…” Marjorie stared into space as her world view did a few somersaults and settled, but pieces of it were still whirling around, like sparkles in a snowglobe. They might have been heart shaped. “You know, I really wanted to talk to them both after, but something happened and poof, me and Mr. S were back at the flat like we’d never left. Do you happen to know where Aziraphale’s bookshop is?”

Eunice cackled and pulled out her address book. “As a matter of fact, I do. And I’ve got the car and the day free, if you’d like some company?”

Marjorie straightened her shoulders and tossed the damp tissues into the rubbish. “I think me and _they_ need to have a little talk. But your company would be very welcome. Also, these shoes are killing me.” She smiled when Eunice cackled again. “Mr. S will be fine without me for a little while longer.”

* * *

When he heard the lower door close behind Marjorie, Shadwell let out a heavy sigh and rested his head in his hands. He was at his wit’s end and didn’t know what to do.

It had been thirteen days of hell since the world hadn’t ended. Oh, it had seemed good at first, had seemed like a dream come true! That’s how they got you after all. But it was rapidly turning into a nightmare without an end in sight. It was enough to make a grown man cry and Shadwell wasn’t one to give in to that sort of thing, but he was only human, wasn’t he?

He’d read and reread all the books in the Witchfinder’s Library but nothing seemed to really apply to the situation. Private Pulsifer had vanished into Tadfield, and Shadwell wouldn’t know what to say even if he could find the lad. He’d tried looking things up on one of the fancy newfangled computers at the library but that had been less than helpful. No, there was no use for it.

He was going to have to have to beard the lion in its den. Right after he had his lunch. And a nap.

About an hour had passed when Shadwell woke up with a start, glaring around his flat but finding it empty. It seemed like every time he woke up he was looking for phantoms. It felt like they were right there, if he could just look quick enough or at the right angle or something. But he also knew he didn’t want to see whatever it was that was whispering nastily from the shadows. He shook off the feeling and pushed out of his chair to restlessly move around the flat. Usually at this time he was out and about, _being laughed at by passers by,_ he thought with a sigh, bringing the plates to the sink and starting to wash them.

The flat hadn’t been so clean in years, decades probably. It had only taken that first supper at her flat to give him the urge to tidy up. It hadn’t been easy either but he’d eventually found the couch and had removed the mystery item from the refrigerator so that the stink wouldn’t knock her over if she opened it by accident.

Seeing her flat had made him wonder, what had happened? When had he lost the will to take care of himself? Granted, that used to be mean breaking and entering and stealing whatever caught his fancy and was light enough to fence but even so, he’d been _trying_. When was the last time he’d done anything to really take care of himself?

What a lesson to learn from a… hard working woman. _She_ had a tidy sum put away, she’d said, only it turned out that a tidy sum wasn’t actually enough to buy a bungalow anymore. Not if you were going to try to stretch the sum for two. What a blow to the ego that had been, to have to admit he didn’t have any savings. She’d just smiled and patted his hand and said she’d keep saving up until it was enough. He’d wanted to crawl away in shame, thinking of how he’d treated her for years and there she was being… well, herself. Except she wasn’t.

He hadn’t even worked up the courage to tell her he’d been in jail on and off for most of his younger years. Well, mostly younger. And it wasn’t really criminal, what he’d been doing with the ledgers for the Witchfinder Army, was it? They hadn’t shown up with the payroll last Saturday and he’d had to admit to himself that that line of income was well and truly gone.

Besides, the WA was officially dead now that he’d retired. If you could call it that. The only real difference was he wasn’t going out and yelling at strangers anymore, and he didn’t much miss being yelled back at. There’d been more and more run-ins where he hadn’t been sure he was going to get away and he’d learned the real value in a pin in getting people to let go.

He let out a sigh and grabbed one of the papers Newt hadn’t gotten through and started reading it out of habit more than anything. Right away an ad caught his eye; offering cash for oddities and collectibles of mysterious and occult natures.

Ever so slowly he lowered the paper and looked around the flat, at the assorted books on witchery and the oddball bits collected over the years by the Witchfinders, distilled down to what his predecessors and then he himself had found interesting and had room to keep.

But it wouldn’t do to just walk in with the real thing on a first meeting. He’d been around far too long to walk into a trap that easily. Besides, it might be even easier money, since he knew a good place to get fake occult items easy enough. He’d followed Madame Tracy there a time or two, in case it proved to be a den of iniquity.

He shuffled up to the telephone and called the number listed in the ad. It was an American who answered and Shadwell could almost hear the cash register ringing as she gushed over the imaginary occult items he mentioned wanting to sell.

They arranged to meet in a little diner just a block over from Boffo’s, which gave him plenty of time to get there and buy something before meeting with… he stared down at the paper where he’d scrawled the name; Mrs. Karen Grimm.

He hesitated but pulled on his Witchfinder coat, assuming rightly that no one would notice the pins and ribbons were mostly rummage sale finds he’d pinned on to give himself a bit of authority. Especially since technically he was still only a lance corporal. There hadn’t been anyone alive to promote him to sergeant so he’d done it himself, which didn’t seem quite right, but who was going to say otherwise at this point?

It was a quick bus trip to Boffo’s Novelty and Joke Emporium and it was a relief to find the old, er, shop owner, Shadwell corrected himself, wasn’t the one behind the counter, but one of her sons. Mrs. Proust gave Shadwell the heebie jeebies something fierce. It was funny, as much as she looked and sounded like a witch, not even once had he ever considered bringing up witchery to her. Some tiny sense of self preservation had told him to leave well enough alone and for once, he’d listened.

“Hello. Anything in particular you’re looking for?” asked the man, his eyes skimming over Shadwell’s coat and going a little hard when he saw the patch on the sleeve.

“Aye, need a bit of something for someone who likes the occult, the older looking the better. Nothing more than ten,” Shadwell said, peering at the items crammed into the display case. “Less is more, laddie. Anything broken you’ll give a discount on?”

“We’ve a few bits and bobs that aren’t in the best condition,” Jack admitted, pulling out a couple of trays and setting them on the top of the counter.

“Going out for a bit Jack!” called a creaky old voice from the back of the shop, making Shadwell jump. He let out a sigh of relief when the hag didn’t come into the main shop.

Jack didn’t answer, keeping a gimlet eye on Shadwell, who sniffed but didn’t comment. A little poking about found what proved to be a compass done in bronze and gilt that looked like it had been dropped down a very long flight of stairs and left in the damp for a decade. There was some sort of creature on the battered cover, maybe a bird, maybe a lion, hard to discern beneath the scratches and greening patina.

“How much?” asked Shadwell, already thinking of how to make it look even older.

“Ten,” Jack answered reluctantly. His mother had a policy about not throwing anything away, especially things she had been experimenting on (barring things that would cause outright injury) but the rest of that policy was that those items got sold for whatever someone was willing to pay. She said it was part of the cosmic balance and would just cackle and tell him, “That’s magic for you dear!” when Jack would press her for a real explanation.

Shadwell sucked on his teeth and set the compass aside and swirled his finger through the second tray, finding what he assumed was another compass only done in gold tone, but proved to be a little pill box with a mirror set inside the cover, and when he saw the pattern on the cover it made his breath hitch.

It was a rose, enameled in fiery reds and yellows, and it made him think of Marjorie and Madame Tracy and he stared at it for a long time before setting it down beside the battered compass. He poked about a bit longer but finally pulled out his wallet with a heavy sigh. “So what’s wrong with this one?” he asked, poking at the rose.

“Oh, hmm,” said Jack, turning it over in his hands. “Color’s off on the enamel, didn’t blend properly. Chance it might crack that way.”

“Oh. Well. I’ll take them both,” he told Jack. “Er, can, could you wrap up the rose? Nice like?” he said, reluctantly setting a twenty pound note on the counter.

“I can do that,” said Jack, setting the trays back under the counter and scooping up the rose and the twenty. “Do you want a box for the other one too?” he asked, working with practiced quickness to polish up the rose and set it into a white box, and tying it closed with a bright red ribbon.

“Aye, might as well. As long as it’s not extra,” Shadwell huffed.

“All included,” said Jack, setting the two boxes on the counter and holding out a receipt and ten pound note as change. “Two for one deal,” he said with a slight smile when Shadwell looked at the money suspiciously, tapping the note taped to the register that did indeed say clearance items were two for the price of one, not that there were any prices actually listed.

Shadwell quickly took the money and the boxes, checking them to make sure they actually had things in them before slipping them into his bag and making a beeline out the door. A quick stop behind the diner had a bit of soot to rub into the too-shiny bits on the compass, before he walked calmly inside. A quick once over had him quickly zeroing in on who had to be Mrs. Grimm.

She stood out like a, well, any one of those metty-fours about pearls and chimney sweeps. Fancy clothes, fancy hair, fancy face and all at once he had the worst feeling that he should turn and walk right back out before she noticed him.

Just as quickly, she recognized him and it was too late. She rose like Venus from the waters, offering her perfumed and manicured right hand to him, the other toying with the golden bead on her necklace. Her smile widened when his eyes were drawn to the movement but quickly looked away. “Sergeant Shadwell?” she said in a husky voice. “I was worried you’d changed your mind about meeting me,” she said with a playful pout that had him gulping.

“Sorry, Mrs. Grimm, not as young and nimble as I used to be,” he said, shaking her hand but quickly letting go, slipping into the chair across the tiny table from her and surreptitiously wiping his hand on his coat to rid himself of the odd tingly sensation the contact had caused.

“No need to apologize, Sergeant Shadwell,” she purred, leaning against the table and continuing to toy with the bead, smiling when his gaze lingered for longer the second time around. “There’s always something to be said, about the appeal of maturity over youth. I much prefer meeting with a gentleman such as yourself than some entitled boy.”

Shadwell’s shoulders squared with the compliment and he smiled. “That’s a fine thing to say, Mrs. Grimm. Mr. Grimm is quite a lucky man.”

“He was,” she agreed, bowing her head but watching him through her lashes as she continued to play with the golden bead. “I tragically lost him just a few months ago. But I’ve found a new purpose in life, in continuing his life’s work, cataloging and collecting the parts of our history that don’t get preserved. The odd heirlooms that just sit and collect dust, forgotten and thrown away. Much like the wisdom of ages past, ignored by those too ignorant to understand what they’re missing. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about that, Sergeant Shadwell.” She reached out and touched his hand again, giving him a soft sympathetic smile when he dragged his eyes away from the flashing bauble. “I’m sure you have a lot of wisdom just waiting to be shared, hmm? But enough about me,” she laughed, somehow looking even more radiant and youthful than she had a moment earlier. “You said you might be willing to part with one of your little treasures for the betterment of my poor husband’s legacy?”

Shadwell blinked, feeling like there was cotton-wool around his thoughts, making everything soft and slightly muffled. “Aye,” he mumbled, reaching into the bag and pulling out the box with the battered compass. “This, er, this is from my great grandfather, you see,” he said, opening the box and setting it on the table.

She recoiled a little at the sight of it and started to shake her head, using one of the paper napkins to shield her hands. “It’s in awful condition,” she hedged, but she peered closer at the cover, pulling a loupe from her purse to get a better view. She gasped in recognition of the gryphon that looked almost identical to the one she’d last seen on a certain golden pinky ring, but quickly covered it by asking, “Can you tell me about it?”

Shadwell cursed himself for not thinking up a story earlier and he hemmed and hawed as he made it up on the fly. “Och, weeell, you see, great granddad, he was, uh, a historian, yes, and he loved travel, right? Went all over the place, trying to find treasures and things to bring home, for the good of crown and kingdom o’course aaaand,” Shadwell droned, startled to see Mr. Crowley outside the window of the diner, but a blink and it was just a fat woman wearing the same style jacket. And sunglasses. He shook his head at the odd fancy and looked back at Mrs. Grimm, relieved that she hadn’t noticed his distraction, busy as she was staring at the compass. “Where was I? Oh right, poor old great granddad, went on his biggest er, adventure, and he ended up right in the middle of one of those little wars the, uhhh, ay-rabs are always having and this was all they recovered of the poor bugger.”

Mrs. Grimm was nodding along to the story, her eyes glued to that little engraved oh-so-familiar gryphon. “And they never found his body?” she asked knowingly.

“Oh, no, neither hide nor hair of him. Like he’d been called straight back to kingdom come in a ray of light and a shower of sparks,” Shadwell said absently, eyes drawn back to the woman in Mr. Crowley’s jacket standing outside the diner, doing a double take when her friend walked up. It was the witch who’d stolen away young Newt with her evil wiles. The two were talking but something told him they were about to leave and if he didn’t get out there and follow them, he was never going to see young Newt again. “Er, Mrs. Grimm-”

“I would love to add your great grandfather’s compass to my husband’s collection, Sergeant Shadwell,” Karen said, toying again with the golden bauble, but Shadwell was too busy watching the two women to notice, and Karen was too busy staring at the compass to notice his lack of notice. “Would you be willing to part with it for, say, 100 pounds? That’s all I have on hand at the moment. I know that’s not much for such an heirloom-”

“Aye, yeah, yes, Mrs. Grimm, that’s fine but I, er, I just remembered I’ve a very important appointment to see to, so if we could just-” Shadwell was half out of his chair, eyes locked on the two women as they started to walk away and when Mrs. Grimm offered him five crisp twenty pound notes, he took them without a second glance, telling her, “So sorry, I’ll call you about the other items, thanks again Mrs. Grimm!” He didn’t even wait for her response, hurrying out after the women before he lost sight of them in the foot traffic.

Karen nodded absently, using a fistful of paper napkins to clean off the compass to better reveal the gryphon. She toyed with the golden bauble that seemed to glow for a moment and a slow pleased smile curled her lips as she slid the compass back into the box and snapped the lid shut, like the jaws of a crocodile.


	33. The Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a very old game is played by Aziraphale and Crowley for Shadwell and Madam Tracy's benefit.
> 
> (The Game inspired by this post by worse0mens on tumblr: <https://worse0mens.tumblr.com/post/189397662940/games-night-at-az-fells>

“So, that’s Agnes again,” Crowley said, shaking their head at the series of texts that had come through on their mobile.

“Everything alright?” Aziraphale asked, settling down in their chair to begin cataloging the books they had bought the day before at the University. The reformed angel shook their head at that, at how much had shifted in a mere twenty-four hours. In the back of their mind loomed the worry for Hex, and the mystery of the Garden, and what _they_ were going to do next.

Crowley let out an incredulous laugh. “Well, apparently Anathema and Newt decided to drive into the city today only his car broke down and it’s going to take a couple of weeks to get the parts in so now they’re making the most of it and staying in the city.”

“If the poor young man didn’t have bad luck, he’d have no luck at all,” Aziraphale murmured, making Crowley laugh. “I hope this doesn’t put the curse-breaking back any.”

“Right? Anyway, they called Agnes and she’s asking us, well, _you,_ if you mind if they stop in for a visit.”

“ _Us_ ,” Aziraphale corrected, giving Crowley a faint smile when they shrugged. “You are a partner in the business, you will recall.”

“Sssilent, silent partner,” Crowley hissed back, waving Aziraphale’s argument away before they could make one. “She needs an answer.”

“I’d love a visit, something to take our minds off of things, but I’ll leave it up to you,” Aziraphale said lightly, pulling on a new pair of glasses and pulling out the first book, a smile curling their lips when Crowley spluttered.

Crowley sent a quick reply and sneered, “Why are you even wearing those?”

“Because I like them,” Aziraphale replied, giving them a look over the top of the lenses that had Crowley looking away with a sniff. “Also, I thought your idea for Cacia was quite clever, so I’ve emulated a pair for myself, to let me see where there’s hidden damage and if there’s magical residues.”

“It was rather clever, wasn’t it,” Crowley said, ginning when Aziraphale gave them another look, pushing up from the couch. “Magic up some biscuits and I’ll get the tea started. I imagine Newt will need some consoling.”

“Hmm, most likely, poor boy.” Aziraphale set down the book and asked, “Should I bother to open the shop today?”

“Don’t see why not,” Crowley called from the back. “But that’s up to you, _partner_.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile a little and got up to unlock the door, startled to see a vaguely familiar woman standing on the step with Eunice. “Oh, hello,” said Aziraphale with a confused frown. “Eunice, this is a pleasant surprise. And..?”

“Madame Tracy,” Eunice murmured, grinning when Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Also known as Marjorie Potts. Seems your little visit left a mark, Aziraphale dear. Hallo, Crowley love, got the tea on?”

“Just put on the kettle,” said Crowley, frowning at the bland blond who was looking around the shop in wide-eyed curiosity. “What did you do to the woman, angel?” they whispered.

Aziraphale closed the door behind the two women, hands twisting together in concern. “I don’t know. I, it’s not like there’s a lot of precedence, of rebellious but not exactly fallen angels possessing people. I was being careful to keep contained but I never meant-” they gestured at the bland clothes that were very similar in colors to what Aziraphale themself was wearing.

“You didn’t,” said Marjorie finally, feeling up to looking the angel in the eye. Now that Eunice had explained a little on the drive over, she could see it, that not-really-humanness that her own assumptions had just filled in as man, or woman in Crowley’s case. “It my magic that’s gone haywire.”

“Oh, oh dear, I am terribly sorry,” said Aziraphale, gesturing for her to have a seat at the little table in the back. They looked to Crowley. “Is, er, do you know if that’s-”

The former demon nodded, watching Marjorie sidelong behind the cover of their glasses. “Pretty typical after a demonic possession anyway. I think any kind of possession really, two souls in a brain that can barely cope with one. Reason why we couldn’t share,” they reminded Aziraphale, who nodded. “Probably would’ve exploded.”

“That was certainly a major concern on my part,” Aziraphale agreed. “Madame Tracy, er, or do you prefer something else?”

“Oh, well, that’s just it, Mr. er Ms.?”

“Mx,” suggested Crowley, pronouncing it ‘mix’.

“Mx. Aziraphale, you see, Madame Tracy was, er, well she was a, an act, of a sorts.” Marjorie gestured to herself. “This is who I am underneath. Just plain ol’ Marjorie Potts.”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look and shook their heads. “My dear, I really am loathe to be contradictory but as I was in your head with you, I really must insist that _this_ , is very much not you.” When her expression crumpled Aziraphale offered her a handkerchief and their hand, patting her hand gently as she sniffled into the white cloth. “Which isn’t to say you can’t make this you, if this is who you really want to be now. But I don’t think it is, is it?” They darted a look at Crowley, who was still shaking their head in the negative.

“This is who I have to be now,” Marjorie insisted soggily, folding and refolding the handkerchief. “I don’t have any choice.”

“Well then we, good lady, shall endeavor to support you as best we may in this decision,” Aziraphale said, giving her hand another pat, smiling when she looked up ever so hopefully at that. “But the more pressing matter is you magic. What exactly is going on?”

“Oh, er, well, I haven’t actually tried doing anything, I’ve been too scared. I’ve been having nightmares every night, but I can’t remember them, just waking up upset and having trouble going back to sleep. And whispers, and feeling like I was being watched by something in the shadows? It was terrible, but Eunice got that to stop at least.”

“She got taught bits and pieces by some wizards but nothing cohesive,” Eunice added, accepting the cup of tea Crowley offered her. “Thank you dear.”

“Eunice says I have an affinity for ritual magic.” Marjorie accepted the cup of tea, looking between Crowley and Aziraphale hopefully.

“Well, I am certainly willing and able to teach you a few more powerful grounding and shield spells, since this is likely my fault,” said Aziraphale, lifting their shoulders in a slight shrug at the raised eyebrow Crowley was giving them. “But you’ll need long term teachers and I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way-”

“We’ve got a thing,” Crowley broke in, “an Arrangement, with a bunch of people. Eunice mentioned it, I imagine.”

“Oh, uh, she did, yes,” said Marjorie. “But, I, I’m worried about how Mr. S. will react,” she admitted. “As it is he doesn’t know I’m here-” She sighed heavily at the pointed look Eunice gave her. “I know, I know! But who else is going to want me, Eunice?”

“Oodles of people who aren’t-”

The door opened and Anathema called, “Hello? Oh, wow, you weren’t exaggerating, this is amazing!” Aziraphale went out into the main area, smiling to see Agnes, Anathema and Newt in the front of the shop, with Agnes grinning behind her pair of sunglasses while the other two stared about them in amazement. “Oh, hello again. This is a wonderful place you’ve created.”

Aziraphale beamed at her. “Well thank you, my dear. Do come in, we, er, have a visitor you might recognize.” Aziraphale led them into the back, which was getting a little crowded with seven of them crammed in the cluttered space, and they shook hands as introductions were made. “Madame, I mean, Marjorie was just about to get a lesson in shielding, if you all would like to join us? And then, hmm, you know with seven of us, I could fix the circle, if everyone would be willing of course.”

“Circle?” Marjorie asked, eyes going wide as Aziraphale dragged the rug away from the spell circle inlaid in the floor of the shop. “Coo-ee, I’ve seen that in one of the wizard’s books. But, it looks fine?”

“Ah, well, now that I’m, er, freelance as Crowley puts it, having a circle connected to,” a glance upwards, “doesn’t serve much purpose anymore. But a few little additions and a seven-voice chant will let me convert it into a proper ward for the shop.”

Crowley was nodding and humming in approval, already thoughtfully pacing off the area to see how best to tie the alarms into the spell. “I can start laying new alarms upstairs while you walk them through things. Then we can set the ward.”

“And then we’ll go out for supper,” beamed Aziraphale, and even if they had wanted to say no, no one would have had the heart to let them down, which was exactly what the reformed angel had been counting on.

* * *

Shadwell dragged himself back to his flat in a foul mood. The witches had quickly outpaced him and Shadwell had been left gasping for breath like he’d just run a marathon after barely a block. It wasn’t like him at all and he’d had to give himself a minute before he could catch his breath. He let himself into the building and hesitated outside Marjorie’s door, finally knocking. He waited and knocked again but there was no answer and he stomped into his own flat instead, annoyed that just because she’d, whatever it was she’d done to him, he was fawning all over her. That he was missing her.

He took off his bag and coat and dropped down into his chair with a huff. “Aye, well, nae more! I don’t need a, a ghost-raiser to take care of me, I’m a man long grown and I can take care of meself just fine!” he told the empty room, shivering when a sudden coolness seemed to settle over him and he busied himself with making a pot of tea.

His unnatural tiredness caught up with him after a few minutes of sulking in his chair waiting for the water to boil, and he fell into another dream, a nightmare filled with armies of angels and demons and terrible Things looming over him whispering terrible things. The leader of the angels was bickering with the leader of the demons over whose responsibility it was to scare the Things away, both of them pointing their fingers behind Shadwell, where he knew Mr. Crowley lurked behind his left shoulder and Mr. Fell lurked behind his right, just as they had done for the boy out in Tadfield.

But when he turned around, they were gone, and more Things were gathering close, and he closed his eyes against the horror of them, but he could still see them no matter how tightly he clenched his eyelids closed. That was the only part of him he could move.

_**You should be fully rid of them,**_ one of the Things was whispering, and he could feel its whiskers brushing against the side of his face and hear the clicking of its pincers as it spoke. _**You almost did it once, didn’t you? By accident even,**_ it was saying, the other Things pointing and laughing at him. _**You could do it again, especially now. The power is in you, no longer constrained by the bonds set over you so very long ago.**_ It exhaled on him, almost as bad as the scent of whatever had been in his refrigerator. _ **And when your protectors are lost in the darkness, we will come for you and give you your reward. Oh yes, it will be quite the reward,**_ it promised, leaning closer still.

Shadwell threw himself away from it and landed with bruising force on the floor, staring around the empty flat, trembling in horror at the already fading words of the nightmare. But seared into his mind was the angel cloaked in darkness and the demon basking in the light and how everything that was happening was their fault. He pushed himself up and staggered over to pull on his coat and bag and in a daze found himself back out on the sidewalk.

The trip seemed to take forever but finally the bookshop loomed up out of the hazy gray fog that seemed to have settled over everything. He reached for the door, ready to pick the lock again, but it opened at his touch and he stepped inside, staring in horror at what he was seeing, not that he was seeing it terribly well in the haziness that had invaded the shop as well.

Five witches, chanting, and poor Newt and Marjorie in the middle of a glowing circle, clearly begging for mercy and not chanting along in time with the others. A giant shadow loomed up out of nothing behind Marjorie and Newt and resolved itself into a skeletal face in a black shroud. Shadwell stumbled over the folded carpet just as the last syllable was spoken and the circle flared up and when his body stumbled out the other side and folded up between Marjorie and Newt, the soul known as Shadwell was plastered against the inner wall of the spell-circle.

The looming shadow said, “WELL THAT’S UNEXPECTED,” and Shadwell’s body and his consciousness both decided it was nap time.

There was an echoing silence in the bookshop that lasted a brief eternity before everyone leapt into action, though primarily that action was staring in shock at the body of Shadwell crumpled up on the far side of the circle, while inside the circle floated a vaguely Shadwell-shaped soul that had its eyes closed and was snoring gently.

Death snapped their fingers and all the humans froze more and Aziraphale and Crowley both hurried over to check on the body of Shadwell, letting out sighs of relief when they found he was still alive and unharmed. Well, physically unharmed.

“Please tell me you’re here on ominous duty,” said Crowley to Death.

“NOT THIS TIME.” Death reached out a bony finger and prodded the snoring soul. “WAKE UP, MR. SHADWELL, THIS IS NO TIME FOR LAZING ABOUT.”

“Muh? Go ‘way… first good sleep in weeks,” Shadwell mumbled, his soul curling up and turning over like he was tucked into bed instead of floating four feet above the floor in the middle of a glowing spell-circle.

“I really don’t understand,” Aziraphale was mumbling, pacing around the circle, careful to avoid touching the humans while they examined the altered spell-circle. “The ward shouldn’t have pulled him from his body like that! Especially a born human-”

“Unless they were all shaken a bit loose from what happened in Tadfield,” Crowley pointed out, shrugging at Aziraphale’s concerned frown. “Especially with himself having shown up.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Even so-”

“NOW, LANCELOT ALOYSIUS SEPTIMUS SHADWELL,” boomed Death.

Shadwell shot upright and bounced off the top of the ward with a string of unintelligible curses. “Who said that? How’d you know that name? I’ll send ye all to hell, oooooh,” he moaned, catching sight of Death and his laid out body on the floor. “Ye killed me! What you go and do that for? I was, I was...” The surety of purpose that had driven Shadwell to shamble out of the flat to the bookshop was gone now, the Thing’s compulsion unable to survive the shop’s new ward.

“YOU AREN’T DEAD YET, ...SHADWELL. YOU ARE MERELY HAVING A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE. WHICH MEANS I GET TO HAVE A NEAR SHADWELL EXPERIENCE,” said Death. Shadwell’s soul cowered as the skeletal hand reached through the ward and plucked Shadwell free. “IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SEEING ME AGAIN IN THE NEAR FUTURE, I SUGGEST YOU LISTEN TO WHAT YOUR FRIENDS HAVE TO SAY.” Death flicked Shadwell’s soul back into his body and turned to look at Aziraphale and Crowley. “HE’S GOING TO TAKE SOME SPECIAL CONVINCING.” And one of the glowing specks of eldritch light that served as Death’s eyes, winked.

They shared a look of surprise and Death vanished, restarting time. Shadwell sat up with a gasp and stared around in shock, pressing his hands to his chest and face to reassure himself that he was really back in his body. “That was, that was-”

“Oh Mr. S!” Marjorie grabbing him in a fierce hug. “What were you thinking walking into a powered circle that way?!” she demanded, giving him a little shake but hugging him again before he could answer. “It could have killed you!”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, putting his arm very tentatively around her waist and hugging her back. “You weren’t back yet and I had another nightmare and…” He shuddered at the recollection, squeezing his eyes shut. “They wanted me to kill the two of you,” he remembered, scowling at Aziraphale and then Crowley, though he quickly looked away from both of them.

“They?” Crowley asked. “They who?”

“The, the nightmares, monstrous things, whispering and staring.” Shadwell shuddered again, glad for Marjorie’s hand rubbing soothing circles over his back. “I never used to dream as a child, but then the nightmares started-” He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear the terrible memory of the dream from his mind. “Anyway, after that night, the nightmares came back and they’ve started to bother Marjorie too.”

“Septimus,” murmured Aziraphale, giving Crowley a significant look.

Crowley made a disgusted noise in understanding. “Seventh. Oh for he-, somewhere’s sake, of course, the damn Witchfinders recruited potential magicians. Probably bound them all up with oaths to the trained ones only now there’s no one left.”

Shadwell stiffened at that. “I’m no-”

“You are,” Marjorie interrupted, shocking Shadwell. “I know it’s a shock, Mr. S.-”

“No, that’s, you’re talking nonsense! That’s really why I came, lookit what you’ve done!” he growled at Aziraphale, rubbing at his face and patting Marjorie gently. “Let me up?” She accepted Aziraphale’s proffered hand, but Shadwell waved it away, huffing and puffing as he rolled over and climbed unsteadily to his feet. “I don’t want yer ‘fluence on me too.”

The reformed angel rolled their eyes at Shadwell. “I really don’t understand what this is about Sergeant Shadwell.”

Shadwell gestured angrily, taking in all of Marjorie. “She weren’t like this afore you messed about in her head!”

“Now, Mr. S,” Marjorie started to say but Shadwell rounded on her, gently cupping her face in his hands.

“No, you listen here, Marjorie, I might be a daft old fool but even I can see you’ve been miserable, whatever happy face you might try to put on it. And aye, they _might_ be angels, but then they might not be. We don’t know, do we? Can’t know. And since you was under _that one’s_ ‘fluence two weeks past, you haven’t been yerself!”

“But Mr. S-” Marjorie backed away, shaking her head. “It’s not Aziraphale’s fault! They didn’t do anything to me, this is who I am, underneath, you see? Just plain Marjorie Potts.” She blinked hard, trying to keep herself from crying when he kept shaking his head. “Jezebels don’t get cottages out in the country and settle down, Mr. S. and neither do witches or mediums.”

“That’s not really true,” said Anathema. “I’m an occultist and a witch and I have a cottage out in the country. And most of the people there have been very nice to me,” she added. “I, er, I don’t know for sure what a Jezebel is but I imagine it’s no one’s business anyway.”

“See!” said Shadwell. “The pa- bastard put a ‘fluence on you, making you think you’ve got to be a painted saint afore you can be happy. Well, I won’t stand for it!” Shadwell said, rounding on Aziraphale, finger pointed accusingly if tremblingly. “You let the Je-, the murr-, the woman go, you hear me? I did for you once and I’m not afraid to do it again!”

“Oh, well that’s quite the lie,” said Aziraphale, shaking their head, not unsympathetic to the man, for all he was a bigoted jerk. “Sergeant Shadwell, I haven’t done anything to harm her. She is still the same woman you knew. Still the same person you care about.”

“You did something,” Shadwell insisted, tears in his eyes. “Just put her back, alright! I, all I did, don’t take it out on her! She doesn’t deserve to suffer because of me.”

“He’s got a point, angel.” Everyone turned to stare at Crowley, who slid off their glasses and sauntered between Shadwell and Aziraphale, a wicked gleam in their bright yellow eyes. “’Snot fair, making them suffer, making them give up their wicked ways. ‘Sagainst the _rulesss._ ”

“Rules?” Aziraphale echoed, eyes going narrow, raising their chin into the air as Crowley sidled closer. “That’s something, _you_ , arguing in favor of following the rules.”

“I’m serious,” Crowley hissed, that little inviting smirk curling their lip. “‘Snot right.”

“She believes that it’s for her own good.” Aziraphale frowned, their eyes crinkling as they shook their head, and they turned to Marjorie and asked, “Don’t you, my dear?”

“I-” Marjorie looked at Shadwell and at Eunice, both shaking their heads vehemently in the negative, and at Agnes, Anathema and Newt who were all clearly torn between wanting to be supportive of her, and agreeing with Shadwell. “Well…”

“See,” Crowley sniffed. “I mean, obviously it was an accident, whatever happened, but she clearly belongs on my side-” Crowley broke off, making a face as though upset at having said the words aloud. “I mean, she’s er, more my style, than yours.”

“Ohh, I see,” Aziraphale huffed. “ _That’s_ what this is really about. You just want a chance to even the score. As though The Game is just, er, a game.”

Crowley gave them a sharp look at the slip but made a dismissive noise and gestured at Marjorie, who was still clearly torn over what to do. “Look at her, angel. Can you really live with yourself, letting this go on?” They gave a negligent shrug, expression turning sly. “I mean, I’m not invested, but you know the only thing that can counteract your influence, is _mine_. Shouldn’t take more than a few rounds… what do you say?”

Aziraphale gave them a hard look but let out a heavy sigh. “Very well, I accept. But will she?” They turned to Marjorie, who was watching in worried confusion, same as everyone else. “If I win, Madame Marjorie Tracy Potts, you’ll go on as you are right now.”

“But when I win,” Crowley drawled confidently, “Well. You know what’s on the line. What Shadwell wants. What you want,” they said knowingly. “Will you stand by the outcome of our little game?” She looked between the two of them, and at the faces of everyone watching in utter fascination and then at Shadwell, who didn’t look terribly sure about this turn of events, and she slowly nodded her head in agreement.

Crowley looked to Aziraphale and together they snapped their fingers. The rug rolled itself back over the newly repurposed circle and a small square felt-covered card table appeared in the center, with a pair of chairs, one east, one west. They took their seats while the others all crept closer to watch. “Been a while, eh angel, since the last time?”

“It has,” Aziraphale agreed. “Quite a lot has changed since then.” A chessboard appeared and pieces began manifesting on the board; bronze on Aziraphale’s side and silver on Crowley’s.

Newt was staring at the game in confusion. There were no kings and no pawns. “Do you know this version of chess?” he asked Anathema in a worried whisper.

Anathema shook her head, wondering what it meant that the pieces weren’t the usual style either. “I’ve never seen this game before.” A look at the others’ expressions made it clear they were just as baffled.

The confusion only grew as a pile of dominoes appeared on the table, as well as five different decks of cards including Crowley’s antique tarot deck, two stacks of draughts pieces in purple and gold, a pile of spiky metal jacks, a pair of six-sided dice that looked to be a few hundred years old as well as a few sparkly plastic dice and an equally old wooden dreidel.

“Is that everything?” Aziraphale asked, picking up a golden draughts piece and setting it down near the middle of the chessboard in the same row as the queens.

“Well, unless…” said Crowley significantly, raising their eyebrows as they took a purple piece. “We could…”

“Oh, no, no. We don’t want to frighten anyone. This is just a friendly bout after all,” murmured Aziraphale and Crowley sighed, clearly disappointed and set the purple piece beside Aziraphale’s. With that, both of them went unnaturally still.

They sat and stared at each other, not blinking, not breathing, until finally, when Shadwell looked like he was about to burst, Aziraphale blinked and Crowley’s hand snaked out and pulled a card from the nearest deck. They slapped it down beside the board, revealing the four of diamonds and with a nod of satisfaction, took four of the jacks, setting them in front of the pointy-hatted figures that would have been Aziraphale’s bishops in a normal game.

Aziraphale gave an appreciative nod before also pulling a card, setting down an ace of clubs. They smiled and pulled a domino from the pile and set it on its side like a protective wall in front of the bronze queen.

Crowley’s eyebrows drew downward and they picked up the wooden dreidel and set it spinning. When it landed they smirked and set one of the purple draughts so that it was a few squares in front of Aziraphale’s queen. “First point taken,” Crowley taunted. “Beat that.”

Marjorie gasped drawing the others’ attention, but she was staring down at her shoes, which had been the pinching plain-jane shoes but had switched to the boots she’d worn on the way to Tadfield. The boots she’d cried over before putting them in a box to give away.

Aziraphale sniffed dismissively and pulled a card from a different deck, smiling smugly as they set the +2 Uno card onto the table. Crowley spluttered helplessly as Aziraphale moved their two rooks to brace the domino, as though they were towers in a wall and Marjorie’s very nice if plain beige blouse went suddenly earth-tone tartan. “You were saying?”

Crowley made a face and pulled a card from yet a different deck, holding it secretively, a wicked grin beginning to curl their lip. “This is going to make things interesting,” they said, and set down the card. “The Wily Old Maid’s Gambit. Accept or concede the entire game, angel.”

“T-the Wily Old Maid’s Gambit?” Aziraphale stammered in shock, covering their mouth with their hand as they regained their equilibrium. “The entire game?” They shook their head and let out a sigh when Crowley nodded, picking up a sparkly purple twenty sided die. “We’ll play the gambit then. Not as though you’ve given me a choice. But I don’t recall-”

“I get to choose on evens.” Crowley’s smirk spread into a full grin when they rolled an eighteen and small mound of buttons appeared, covering the draughts pieces. “The MOB it is.”

“No!” gasped Aziraphale, startling the watching people. “Crowley, you can’t!”

“Can’t?” smirked Crowley smugly. “I just did. You agreed to the terms, angel. But, I mean, you can concede the _whole game_ if you’re too chicken to keep playing-”

“We’ll see who’s chicken, serpent,” Aziraphale sneered, pulling a massive book from thin air and flipping through it, mumbling under their breath to themself the whole while.

Anathema crept a little closer and leaned over to look at the book over Aziraphale’s shoulder, quickly looking away from the glowing celestial script and rubbing her eyes.

“You know it’s not going well for them when the rules book comes out,” Crowley said with a grin, relaxing back in their chair, hands folded behind their head. “This’ll be over in no time,” they said to Marjorie and she smiled a little, clearly still torn. “And you,” they said lowly to Shadwell, pinning him with a stare, “will owe me a favor. Won’t you.”

Shadwell gulped but nodded in agreement, taking Marjorie’s hand in both of his. “She’s worth it.” He gave Marjorie a worried look when she sniffled, blushing when she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Ah ha!” Aziraphale exclaimed, making everyone jump. “I thought so.” The reformed angel snapped the book shut and vanished it, a grapefruit sized gold egg appearing in its place, and they nestled it carefully onto the pile of buttons. “You invoked si-or-ee during a Wily Old Maid Gambit, which allows me to retaliate with the Seriously Monstrous Egg.”

Crowley’s grin soured and they had to clear their throat a few times before they could speak. “I’d never’ve thought it of you, angel. Just a friendly game, huh? We’ll see about that.”

The moves began happening faster now and with each one Marjorie’s clothes shifted; Crowley pulled a card and, much to Aziraphale’s dismay, set two dominoes like a wall between the mound of buttons and their side of the board while Marjorie’s long skirt shrank to above the knee, transforming into another item she’d reluctantly planned to give away.

Aziraphale spun the dreidel and Crowley groaned in disgust when it stopped spinning. The reformed angel smugly declared, “Calamity,” and advanced their gryphon-shaped knights to flank the mound of buttons. Marjorie’s tartan shirt and shorter skirt became a frilly Victorian gown and she laughed in surprise.

Crowley whipped over another card, yelling, “Calvary!” when the jack of spades was revealed, and Aziraphale threw their hands up with a groan. A pile of spinning jacks and one large caltrops dropped onto the board, knocking over all the dominoes and taking out the gryphons before bouncing off the table, they and all the knocked over pieces vanishing and the cream and blue dress transformed into the one Madame Tracy had worn to Armageddon.

“You wily-” Aziraphale was shaking their head, reaching out but then withdrawing their hand, almost taking their move but then hesitating. “If it weren’t impossible to cheat, I’d swear… Luck of the devil,” they accused before finally shifting their queen forward one square towards the mound of buttons and the waiting egg.

“Nah, this is all skill, angel.” Crowley spun the wooden dreidel and triumphantly pointed at the symbol it landed on. “Winner takes all.” And Marjorie’s hair returned to its previous red.

She pressed the handkerchief to her eyes when Shadwell grinned happily at her and whispered, “There you are. Welcome back, lass.”

“Madame Marjorie Tracy Potts, I solemnly declare you free from any and all unwanted influences, forevermore,” Aziraphale proclaimed, their eyes not leaving Crowley, like a cat with a mouse in its sights as the former demon smugly echoed the proclamation.

Shadwell let out a happy cry and lightly kissed Marjorie, staggering backwards when she got her wits about her and kissed him back. She didn’t even stop to say goodbye, giving everyone a wave over her shoulder as she dragged Shadwell from the shop, and he blushingly went.

Crowley pretended to not notice Aziraphale’s stare, smiling widely at the witches and poor worried Newt. “Now that that’s settled-”

“Oh, but this isn’t over yet,” Aziraphale interrupted somberly. They reached for the top card from the tarot deck, giving Crowley a taunting smile when their eyes went wide. “You played the Wily Old Maid’s Gambit, which means all maneuvers must be completed before the bout can end. Actions have consequences, my dear.” With great ceremony they revealed the Five of Coins. And, on top of its little nest of buttons, the egg rocked of its own accord.

Crowley spluttered, gesturing at the door where Marjorie and Shadwell had hurried out.

“Oh, don’t pretend like this was ever about the humans,” Aziraphale said. “In fact, you all will want to move back.” Not daring to look at Crowley, they warned, “It’ll be ravenous, fresh out of the egg, and while the new ward _should_ keep it contained, best we not take any chances.”

Crowley pressed their hand hard over their mouth, focusing intensely on the game board while Newt scrambled backwards, almost tripping over himself in his hurry. The others reluctantly backed away, clearly enthralled by what was going on and Agnes was grinning with anticipation over what would happen next.

Lip curled, Crowley moved their queen forward with a show of reluctance. “Why risk it, angel? You know the, er, damage it’ll do if it hatches.”

“A calculated risk… but, if you’d like to concede the whole game..?” they taunted, smiling when Crowley made a face. “Just remember who started this.” Aziraphale pushed their queen the rest of the way forward, so the two queens were side by side as the egg, which was beginning to glow an ominous red, rocked again, and a crack appeared in the surface.

“We don’t have to do this, angel,” Crowley protested, voice thick with emotion.

“Don’t we?” said Aziraphale coolly. “Take your turn. Let’s finish this properly.”

Crowley nervously picked up the six-sided dice and rolled them, and everyone leaned forward and inhaled in the sudden oppressive silence as they bounced and skidded over the table, spinning on one corner before one and then the other settled with a single pip upright. “Ha! Snake eyes!” Crowley crowed, and the egg went still and dark, the cracks gone.

“You win this time, serpent,” Aziraphale conceded, setting their queen down on its side.

Crowley snatched the golden egg when Aziraphale reached for it. “Nuh-uh. Spoils of war.”

There was a long moment of silence and Crowley tossed the egg into the air and caught it as though it weighed nothing, inwardly delighted by the bewildered expressions on the others’ faces. “So, who’s hungry? I believe you were treating us to supper?”

“Oh yes, where should we go? I know an excellent sushi place with generous portions. Playing does give me such an appetite.” Aziraphale pursed their lips, ignoring the incredulous stares Anathema and Newt were giving them, staring instead down at the game board. “I can’t believe you played a gambit. Over something so trivial.”

“Look who’s talking! I’m not the one who played the Seriously Monstrous Egg, angel.” Crowley was struggling to not grin, tossing the foil wrapped egg into the air again. “What if you’d won? Then what? It’s been, what, two thousand years since a wossname’s been seen-”

“Three thousand years,” Aziraphale corrected with a sheepish shrug and the beginnings of a smile, tidying things up. Crowley set the egg down on their side of the table to help. “You just struck a nerve and I got carried away.”

“Were you really playing for her soul?” Anathema worked up the courage to ask.

Eunice was staring down at the egg, shaking her head back and forth in recognition and she shot a knowing look at Aziraphale, who pointedly ignored it.

“Oh, goodness no,” laughed Aziraphale, palming one of the draughts and pulling it from behind Newt’s ear, grinning when Crowley rolled their eyes and took it to put with the others, vanishing both stacks. “We were making a show of it, for Shadwell’s benefit.”

“So the game was just made up,” said Newt, his relieved smile slipping away at the sharp looks they both pinned him with.

“Oh no, The Game,” you could hear the capital letters drop into place as Crowley spoke, “is very very real, and deadly serious. We’ve been playing for thousands of years at this point,” said the former demon quite as ominously as they could. They slid an inquiring look towards Aziraphale. “I’d say it was a draw this time. You almost had me a few times.”

“You always say that,” Aziraphale sniffed, that faint smile still tugging at their lips. “But I concur, too close to call. One of these days we’ll have a clear winner.”

“Well, until then,” shrugged Crowley, tossing the egg into the air again and slipping on their glasses, grinning when the humans realized the egg wasn’t coming back down. “We’ll just have to keep on playing.”


	34. Winner Take All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadwell and Madam Tracy have a heart to heart while Aziraphale, Crowley, Anathema, Newt, Agnes and Eunice make some plans.

When Shadwell and Marjorie arrived back at their building, they hesitated on the landing, both feeling sweetly shy in a way neither one of them had felt in a very long time. “Where would you be most comfortable, Mr. S?” Marjorie asked, wanting to reassure him.

Shadwell looked at his own door, feeling a little shiver a dread to remember the dream. “Can we, er, have some tea first? I need to talk to you, Marjorie, afore we go any farther,” he reluctantly admitted, looking back at her. “There’s, there’s things I need you to know.”

“All right.” She watched him unlocked his door and went inside, trying to squelch down the worry that was bringing those tears back to her eyes and shivering at the odd chill that was lingering in the air. She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief Aziraphale had given her when Shadwell pulled off his coat and bag and waved for her to sit, taking the kettle from her when she went to put it on for him. “Mr. S-”

“Just, just let me get this finished, alright?” He finished making the tea and set it down on the table for her but continued to stand as she took a sip and nodded. He stared at her for a long moment, dressed as herself again but eyes still filled with tears and worry. “It wasn’t him, was it? That made you change yerself so drastically.”

“They- er, no, it wasn’t Aziraphale,” she admitted, taking another sip of tea to keep herself from crying at the somber expression on his face.

“You did it ‘cause you thought I’d like you more if you looked this way,” he stated, hating himself when she nodded and started folding and refolding the handkerchief. “If you stopped being you.”

“It wasn’t just for you,” she admitted, dabbing at her eyes again. “I, I thought, well, it’d be better to try to fit in more. Not so loud or, or different.” She laughed a little and shrugged. “Seems everyone saw through that though.”

“Aye, lass.” Shadwell folded his hands nervously behind his back and started pacing. “Well, I’m telling you, you’re best as you are. Nae more o’that, that, playacting. Agreed?” he asked, letting out a relieved sigh when she nodded. “Good, good, well… well. And as I’m no longer a Witchfinder, you’ve no need to worry yerself over that either. All right?”

“Er, about that, Mr. S-”

“Please, Marjorie, let me finish?” He took a deep breath and returned to pacing when she nodded again. “I always knew what you were, knew it the first time we met-”

“A Jezebel,” she said flatly.

“What? No, well, aye, but I was talking about your witchery! Doing ghost-raising and the like, just bold as brass. And, er, I knew about the other things, but that was you just trying to survive. Those dirty old men, acting so high an’ mighty, like you was the bad one for taking their money. You should’a charged them double!”

Marjorie blinked at that and very carefully set down her cup of tea. “You called me-”

“I know and I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I was no better than one of them, for, for wanting your time and attention when I’d done nothing to earn it. Worse than them, without a real job or even a skill. And I still said those things to you and I’ve no excuse.” He squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye as he stated, “You deserve better.”

“And what does that mean?” she demanded.

He gulped but didn’t turn away. “Well, er, well, for one, you should know the truth about me. I, I was in jail a few times, for thieving, mostly. A few fights. Used to be good at picking pockets when I was younger. Learned my way around picking locks and such from a feller I met when I was inside. He introduced me to Witchfinder Captain Ffolkes. I didn’t even have enough to my name to get a flat so when he ended up dying I said I was his son so I could stay.” She was just staring at him and he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling every one of his years in that moment. “I was a chancer, a confidence man, tricking people out of their money. I still am. I was tricking them two into paying for the _army_ when it’s been just me for decades now. I, I scammed a woman today out of a hundred pounds over a compass I bought at Boffo’s for a tenner.”

“You what? You were at Boffo’s?” she demanded, “Today?”

He nodded sheepishly. “There was an ad, in the paper, looking for old occult items and now that I haven’t got them supplementing my income, I thought, well, why not? Go for a test run, buy something new, make it look old, see if she knows what she’s talking about, which she didn’t.”

Marjorie just stared at him for another moment before admitting, “I already knew about the jail time, Mr. S., Captain Ffolkes told me before you moved in.”

“H-he did? Och, well, and you still..?”

She nodded slowly and asked, “How did you find Boffo’s?”

He bowed his head and admitted, “I followed ye there, not long after Captain Ffolkes died, oh almost thirty years ago now? Ye were acting all squirrelly and I was worried ye were getting yerself into trouble, dressed as ye were.”

“But-” Marjorie let out a surprised laugh. “But I always dressed very plainly when I’d go there, so no one would recognize me.”

“Aye, squirrelly. The second time it happened I actually went inside, after you left. Met, er, Mrs. Proust. Had two little lads with her. Her husband was a real clown.”

“Yes, Boffo the clown. He was a nice man,” agreed Marjorie. “The shop was really struggling after he died and Eunice was raising the boys alone and I would buy things from her when I had a good week, just to help keep things afloat.”

“Yer a good woman, Marjorie Potts,” Shadwell said, sitting down beside her on the couch and taking her hand in his. “You’ve no reason to shackle yerself to me.”

“I don’t see it that way, Mr. S.” She reached out to cup his cheek, smiling fondly at him. “I want to be here, with you. I don’t need you to change for me either. But I appreciate the effort you’ve been making.”

“Are ye sure?” he had to ask.

She nodded her head firmly. “Quite.”

“I want to be with ye too.” He let out a shaky breath and nodded to himself before getting up and retrieving the box out of his bag, fluffing the wilting ribbon a little before offering it to her. “I saw this and I couldn’t help but think of ye, how colorful and bright you’ve made my life,” he murmured, sitting back down beside her as she carefully undid the bow.

“Oh, Mr. S!” she gasped, more tears welling up to see the golden box with its enameled fiery rose on the cover. “It’s lovely.” She carefully opened it, smiling to see the little compartments and the mirror inside. “You got this at Boffo’s too.”

“Oh, er, I did. I know it’s not-” The words were kissed from his lips and he tenderly held her close as she hugged and kissed him again. “I take it you like it?”

“I do,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder, letting out a happy sigh as he lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Mr. S-”

“Er, about that.” He flushed when she looked up at him. “You, er, in private you could call me by my given name.”

She stroked her hand soothingly over his back. “Oh, it’s alright, Mr. S., I remember how you feel about names having power and such-”

“That, well, that was just... if I’m going to trust anyone with it, it’d be you.” He leaned close and whispered, “My name’s Lancelot Aloysius Septimus Shadwell.” And he braced himself, waiting for the laughter, only it didn’t come and he cracked open an eye. “Well?”

Marjorie smiled fondly at him. “My very own night in shining armor,” she murmured. “What would you like me to call you, dear?”

“Yes,” he blurted, chuckling when she grinned. “Uh, whatever you like, as long as it stays between us.”

“It will,” she promised, leaning forward to give him another kiss. “Lancelot Aloysius Septimus Shadwell. Lance? Al? Tim?” He chuckled and shrugged at all of them and she leaned forward and whispered, “Dear? Sweetheart? ...Lover?” She grinned when he blushed crimson. “Ah, I think we’ve got a winner.”

“I’m a very lucky man,” he said, smiling when he was rewarded with another kiss.

“You might get luckier yet, if you’ll take me out to dinner,” she teased, laughing when he playfully leaped up from the couch and grabbed his non-witchfinder coat.

“What are ye waiting for, lassie, we’ve a meal to get!” He was grinning as he tugged her up off the couch and waved her up the stairs, neither noticing that the coldness that had invaded the flat with the nightmare was gone by the time they left, hand in hand and grinning.

* * *

Aziraphale brought everyone to their favorite Japanese restaurant, though it took some convincing on Newt’s part, who only agreed when they all assured him there was cooked food to eat as well as sushi. Aziraphale knew the chef by name and happily introduced him to everyone in both Japanese and English. “Everything is delicious, don’t be afraid to try something new,” the reformed angel urged Newt, giving him a reassuring smile. “Someone will eat it if you don’t like it, I promise.”

“Yes, me,” Anathema laughed, rubbing her hand over Newt’s arm when he pouted. “And if you hate it all, we’ll get you something you do like. Promise.”

They ordered and watched respectfully as the chef prepared their food for them and the first few minutes were filled with appreciative silence. It was Agnes who broke the silence by saying, “So, about this game of yours...”

“Well,” Crowley slid a look to Aziraphale, who gave the slightest of nods to show they were ready. “What about it?”

“When did you start playing?” she asked.

“That was quite the rule book,” Anathema agreed.

“Oh, well, it was much simpler in the early days,” said Aziraphale. “A flip of a coin, a roll of a die. But now, no, that won’t do at all! No, no, everything is so much more complex now.”

“And when were those early days?” Eunice asked.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley who made a face and shrugged. “Er, five-ish thousand years ago? Not big on timekeeping back then, you know? Though, really, when I think about it…” Crowley smirked a little at Aziraphale. “It really started in the Garden.”

Aziraphale’s frown eased into a smile as they considered. “You do have a point. The precursors to The Game were certainly there. And when we were back upstairs it really started to take shape, under your wily supervision.”

“You had plenty of input-” Crowley protested.

“Yes, usually trying to convince you it was a bad idea and you convincing me to do it anyway,” Aziraphale said with a shake of their head, a smile tugging at their lips.

Crowley put up their hands. “‘Snot my fault, how’s it my fault that you did what you wanted to do? ‘Sides, most of those rules were rubbish anyway.”

“They were,” Aziraphale agreed, giving Crowley a fond smile. “I really didn’t take much convincing, did I?”

“No. Too busy trying to be _nice_ ,” Crowley sniffed.

“Too busy trying to keep you out of trouble,” Aziraphale corrected.

Eunice leaned over to ask Aziraphale, “So just how old is that, what’d you call it? Ferociously ridiculous egg?”

Crowley smothered a grin when Aziraphale spluttered. “Seriously Monstrous Egg. Well, er, well, time isn’t really a factor in these sorts of things,” they said, throwing a glare at Crowley, who hastily busied themself with drinking their tea when Eunice looked their way. “You’ll have to ask Crowley about time and such, not really my department,” they said with a smug little smile when Crowley almost spat out their tea.

“I, uh, er-” Crowley relaxed when they realized Eunice had figured it out and was just getting in on the fun. “Well, you see, the egg, like all pieces of The Game, are kept within a stasis manifold until the spell matrix is induced to release them.” They spun out a nonsensical yarn filled with jargon, keeping everyone enraptured for a good minute or two before saying offhandedly, “It’ll be a hell of a time to replace it, when it does hatch. And then trying to find someone who can properly deal with wossnames- what are they called, angel? Can’t remember.”

“Ah, yes, I figured the gravity was getting to you again,” murmured Aziraphale into their tea, making Crowley grin. “It’s a cockatrice egg, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously,” Crowley echoed. “What’s that again?”

Aziraphale gave them a narrow-eyed glare but Crowley was immune and just kept on grinning. With a sigh Aziraphale launched into a highly detailed and nonsensical explanation about how one discerns the difference between a cockatrice egg and a basilisk egg, both of which were similar but pointedly different from wyverns before mentioning, “But really Crowley, you should do some reading up on creatures of a draconic nature, all things considered.”

Crowley blinked and sat up when they realized everyone was looking at them, frowning at having been caught unprepared, caught up as they were in Aziraphale’s words and the playful twinkle in their eye. That was enough of The Game for now. “Nah, why waste time when I’ve got you to tell me all the important bits. ‘Snot like I’m your student anymore.” They raised an eyebrow at Agnes upon spotting the faint smile she was wearing. “Just wait ‘til they’ve got you lot writing out essays and quizzing you on spell-circles, we’ll see how funny you think it is. _Hellish_ ,” they teased.

Aziraphale pinched their lips together, eyes crinkling as they shook their head at Crowley and clucked their tongue. “Well, I’m happy to report you’re all much better students than Crowley was,” Aziraphale said, beaming at the others. “And I am very grateful for your help today. I was hoping Cacia would have a chance to stop in, so we could discuss the book but you were saying she already has a job in Tadfield?”

Agnes, Anathema and Newt were all nodding. “She’d barely applied when she got a call to come in. Apparently a few of the old teachers suddenly decided to retire last week and the school is desperate to find people before the new school year starts,” Anathema explained. “Might have to do with rumors of Adam and the Them making a truce with their rivals.”

“Oh. It sounds like Miss Tick might have her work cut out for her,” said Aziraphale, taking a moment to politely order more food and tea.

“But she promised to come to Biers on Sunday,” Agnes assured them. “I’m sure she’d give you a ride back to Tadfield if you’re needing to get back before the car’s fixed,” she said to Anathema and Newt.

They exchanged a look and shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind getting to spend some time in London,” Anathema admitted, “since it’s still here and everything,” she smiled. “Didn’t really have time to enjoy it my first time through.”

“You, er, you could meet my mom,” Newt said, blushing hotly when she smiled at him. “If you want. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and held up the evil eye necklace borrowed from Magrat and admitted, “She doesn’t know about the magic stuff though. How do I tell her?”

“Don’t,” said Eunice, shrugging when the others gave her a startled look. “Look, she’s probably gone her whole life not knowing or not wanting to know. Why mess with that? Her disbelief is more of a shield than her confusion and worry would be, right?”

Aziraphale and Crowley both nodded. “You can always tell her later, if things change,” Aziraphale soothed. “But I agree with Eunice on this one.”

“Just tell her you lost a bet,” Crowley said, gesturing to take in the necklaces and the other good luck charms scattered about on Newt’s person. They leaned forward and grinned, asking, “Still got Granny’s fascinus? Eunice’ll want to see it.”

Newt blushed crimson but good-naturedly pulled the little figure from his pocket and held it out to show to Eunice. “I’m told it’s an heirloom.”

Eunice slapped a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter. “And this came from _Esmerelda Weatherwax?_ ” she squeaked out, waving for Newt to put it away. “Oh, oh my, Marjorie will need to see that. You know, I should see if there are any reproductions I could sell, I bet that’d be a booming industry,” she grinned. “Quite the novelty.”

“I can’t even imagine,” said Aziraphale somberly, grinning widely when the humans turned sheepish. “You make this too easy, my dears, far too easy. I was an angel, not a saint,” they joked, and Crowley couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped at the humans’ expressions.

“We were both angels when those were popular,” Crowley pointed out, grinning when they went even more sheepish. “Wards off evil spirits and whatnot by making people laugh. It’s the laughter that’s powerful, not the figure.”

“Oh,” said Newt as he tucked it back into his pocket. “This one must be working overtime.”

“Er, speaking of evil spirits,” said Anathema. “What was Sergeant Shadwell talking about? You both looked worried when he mentioned the nightmares?”

“Ah. Yes. The Things. They’re from another dimension,” Aziraphale explained.

“They eat magic,” Crowley said, leaning back again. “Nasty. They want into anyplace there’s magic. And they can mess with people’s minds.”

“They usually only bother magicians who are new in their power, but once they learn how to control their magic, the Things don’t have a way in anymore.” Aziraphale let out a sigh. “It seems the situation in Tadfield and possibly my interference with Madam Tracy caused a new awakening in their abilities, bringing them to the Things’ attention.”

“There’s also something going on at Esk’s University that has the Things’ attention. But signs say we have time yet.” Crowley tried to reassure them, “We’re going to do everything we can to stop it. Whatever it is.”

“So how do we fight them?” Eunice asked.

“Well, don’t use magic on them, for one. Plain ol’ fire hurts them. As do we,” said Crowley with a toothy humorless smile. “Keep an eye out for magical people having nightmares. Weird buzzing and bad feelings signal where they’re gathering.”

“Like the University,” said Agnes with a shudder.

“Yes. Certain wards and blessings will keep them away by virtue of firming up the boundaries between their world and ours. Typically the ones with blessed salt or chalk,” added Aziraphale. “Hmm… I wonder if we could convince Sergeant Shadwell to-”

Crowley and Newt were both shaking their heads. “No way, angel. I’m not sure he even believes any of what happened to him today-- getting him to agree to putting spells over his flat? I mean, we might get him to drink but getting him to _believe_?”

“It’s probably going to take Madame Tracy a while to convince him of anything,” Newt agreed. “When I called them the day after, she told me about how they were going to get a cottage in the country, but since they’re still here, I’m guessing he’s being stubborn. Though I’m not sure why she wants to retire to the countryside,” he admitted, sharing a speaking look with Anathema. “I can’t imaging either one of them being happy in the country.”

She chuckled and shrugged. “Don’t ask me, I only ended up there because my Agnes told me to. At least most of the people have been nice to me.”

“Until you walk away,” Newt complained. “Or think that I’m not listening. Or-”

“But if I say anything, then I’m a rude American. So I don’t say anything. Most of them mean no harm,” Anathema shrugged. “I probably haven’t done my reputation any good by liking Adam and the Them,” she admitted with a laugh.

“Huh, maybe we should send Shadwell and Madam Tracy to Tadfield,” said Eunice. “Really shake that sleepy little town up. Get that fool idea out of her head. She _likes_ the city! But now she’s old and retired, so it’s time to go moulder out in the country.”

Anathema’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Do you think we could?” she asked Eunice. “Convince her, I mean? They can stay at Jasmine Cottage, maybe, uh, house-sitting? While Newt and I are here? And we could sublet their flats from them, put some protections on the buildings?”

Eunice leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea as she considered the logistics of it. “Shadwell might be the sticking point, but when Marjorie’s done with him I don’t think he’ll have the energy to resist,” she cackled. “He won’t agree to anything that might be considered charity though, stubborn old fart-”

“I’ll offer to pay them to look after the cottage and to use their apartments,” Anathema said. “Half again the going rate, since it’s such short notice, yes? I’d offer double, but-”

“No no, that’s a good idea,” Eunice agreed. “He’d get suspicious at double. We can get a ward on it in a couple days’ time,” she murmured to herself. Her expression turned sly and she looked at Agnes. “I bet we could get Nanny and Granny to go visit them.”

“Oh good gawd,” Agnes laughed. “Are you trying to kill the man?”

“Oh, he might _wish_ he were dead, but if anyone can out curmudgeon someone, it’s Granny.”

“I almost feel bad for the man,” said Aziraphale, sipping their tea.

“Almost,” Crowley agreed with a grin.


	35. The Dragon's Lair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley have a good laugh at their prank and end up having their own heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Safe For Work But No One Will Believe You
> 
> Here it is, a good chunk of Wilde Card in all its glory! There's a lot of kissing and hugging and tenderness. And angst of course, because I am an angst-gremlin. Don't know when the rest of Wilde Card will be incorporated, but can't be more than a dozen chapters away, right? ;} This is a short story after all. /s

Plans set it motion Aziraphale and Crowley and the others finished their meal and said their goodbyes outside the bookshop before silently heading back to the flat for the night. They helped each other from their coats and went into the office and sat on the couch and the moment they looked at each other the laughter broke free.

“Wily Old Maid!” Aziraphale accused, “Wily Old Serpent is more like it!”

“Seriously Monstrous Egg!” Crowley retorted. “Really? Smeg?! I bit my tongue over that.” They gestured wildly. “And the, the whatsits, the little towers in a castle wall-”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it,” Aziraphale responded with a grin.

“Yes! And the rule book, oh, that was, that really sold it, angel. What was that?” Crowley asked. “I could feel it.”

“Oh, just a book of mine, written in celestial. I didn’t want to risk them being able to read it.” Aziraphale beamed at Crowley. “The MOB. _The MOB._ ”

“They all jumped when you gasped,” said Crowley, wiping their eyes and grinning at Aziraphale. “What the hell is si-or-ee? I couldn’t-”

“Well, you called me chicken, so… Chicken or Egg,” Aziraphale answered, unable to keep from laughing when Crowley spluttered and slapped themself in the face. “Where did you get a caltrops from?” they demanded.

“No idea,” Crowley laughed. “Did you see their faces when you told them to back away? Oh, somebody, you almost had me there.”

“No almost about it,” said Aziraphale smugly, leaning over to prod Crowley’s shoulder. “You would have cracked, but then you rolled _snake eyes_ for goodness sake and _I_ almost cracked.”

“Oh don’t pretend you’d have been able to keep it up,” Crowley protested, prodding Aziraphale’s shoulder in return. “What were you going to do if I’d kept it going?”

“I have no idea,” Aziraphale admitted, catching Crowley’s hand to keep from being prodded again. “But I got you at dinner. Caught you wool gathering,” they said smugly, lacing their fingers together with Crowley’s.

“Eh, well, Eunice had already caught on by then, and Agnes, I’m pretty sure.” Crowley leaned closer. “Where’d that dress come from?” Crowley was still grinning, but something in their voice had Aziraphale looking at them curiously. “The ruffly thing?”

“Oh, that, er, it was mine actually. I mentioned the persona I had for a while, didn’t I?” Aziraphale shrugged. “I didn’t want to alter Marjorie’s clothes too much.”

“It got a reaction.” Crowley looked down at their hand in Aziraphale’s and admitted, “I thought I recognized it, but couldn’t place it.”

“You… recognized it?” Aziraphale echoed, startled. “But-”

“Wasn’t gone,” Crowley murmured, meeting their eyes. “Just hidden.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale set their other hand over their clasped hands, surprised to notice the purple in the ring had mostly overtaken the blues and greens. “It was one of my favorites,” they said, looking back up at Crowley with a small smile. “Rather flattering I thought.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. “It suits you.” The shift in topic had the curiosity that had been eating at Crowley since that odd conversation with Esk the day before rearing up again. The former demon had tried to think of a subtle way to ask, but ended up blurting, “When you said you’d _never_ … Have, er, were there ever..? Just, you visited a lot of clubs and...”

Aziraphale’s confusion melted into flustered but amused understanding when they saw the blush creeping over Crowley’s face. “Are you asking me about my… experiences?”

“I, uh, um, well...” Crowley let their head drop back against the couch and covered their face with their hands when Aziraphale’s smile turned into a grin. “Ugh, angel!”

“I’m rather certain I saw _you_ at more than a few of those clubs. Repeatedly. Perhaps I should ask you the same question,” said the reformed angel playfully, chuckling at the inarticulate noises of protest Crowley made.

“Lots of tempting to be done is those places,” Crowley said with a sniff, staring unseeing at the windows, trying for casual as they rested their elbow on the back of the couch so their hand was almost close enough to touch Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Kept downstairs off my back, taking credit for what they were gleefully doing on their own. Wasn’t like I was just keeping tabs on you or anything.”

 _Just,_ Aziraphale noted. Some of the amusement went out of the moment at the reminder that they didn’t actually know for sure where Crowley, or hell, stood on the matter. “I won’t, don’t think less of you,” Aziraphale murmured, smiling tenderly when Crowley reluctantly looked at them. “If you, uh, found companionship-”

“What? No! Ugh, it’d be like… I dunno, I can’t help but think of mortals as kids,” Crowley said, trying to put their nebulous feelings into words. “Worse yet, kids with amnesia. Even Nanny Ogg, which tells you something about me I suppose,” they said, making Aziraphale laugh. “Couldn’t ever be equitable, that sort of thing between them and us. Wouldn’t be right.”

“I am in complete agreement with that sentiment,” Aziraphale reassured them, and the slight unconscious tension that had gripped both of them relaxed. The reformed angel leaned closer to confide, “You know a lot more went on in those places than dalliances. And you might recall that I didn’t limit myself to gentleman’s clubs; there were quite a few for women, and for those of us who don’t conform to any gender if you knew where to look and who to talk to.”

Crowley was flustered by the tender playful fondness in Aziraphale’s smile. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I just, uh, I figure Karen can’t be the first. There must’ve been a few others who tried to get your attention over the years, especially such a, uh, sweet handsome personage such as yourself. Probably left a trail of broken hearts behind you.” As though Crowley hadn’t noticed them, human or otherwise, sighing after Aziraphale, who was oblivious to all of them. As though Crowley hadn’t sneered at the foolishness of mortals while drowning their own sorrows after every bittersweet encounter. “Not that you encouraged them, ‘course. Doggedly persistent, mortals, when they’ve a mind to be.”

 _Sweet? Handsome?? Are they..? Is, is Crowley **flirting** with me? _Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat at the idea and they twisted their hands together nervously as they tried to keep their mind on the conversation. “Oh, er, well, there were a few misguided humans who had the notion that they could persuade me into being interested in that sort of thing.” Aziraphale sighed and shook their head at the recollection, shifting ever so slightly closer to Crowley. “I tried to make it clear I was there for purely intellectual stimulation but they took that for a ruse. On more than one occasion I had the unfortunate experience of a very forward young man flinging himself into my lap, in an effort to kiss me. Often when I was in the middle of reading or eating supper,” they said, still affronted by the indignity of it.

“What? I never saw that.” It was clear from Aziraphale’s aggrieved expression that they were not exaggerating. “Bold of them, considering you had a reputation by that point.”

Aziraphale smiled a little and raised a knowing eyebrow at their slip. “Did I?”

“I mean, you’re not one to let that sort of thing go unchecked,” Crowley stammered, not sure why they were trying to continue the ruse when it was clear Aziraphale knew the truth. “Might’ve gotten a lot of people into trouble, doing that. And I imagine they tried to just laugh it off as boyish high spirits or whatever,” Crowley said, feeling a little jolt when the warm worn nap of Aziraphale’s velveteen waistcoat brushed against their knuckles. _Did, did they move closer to me?_ They looked at Aziraphale and took in the slight blush staining their cheeks and swallowed hard. _Yup. Yes, okay, keep it cool, it’s fine, this is fine, better than fine. Remember to breathe, breathing is good._

Aziraphale felt a rush of warmth from Crowley’s knuckles brushing against their shoulder and shifted closer yet to confide, “It was a little wicked of me, but I always found it rather amusing when they’d let their hands go a-wandering and got a rather bad shock at not finding what they were looking for.” They smiled widely when Crowley let out a bark of surprised laughter. “Never bothered to make the effort if I didn’t have to, and really, they were asking for far worse, accosting someone like that. Had to teach a few of them lessons in propriety. Eventually word got around of my ‘tragic condition’, but that didn’t deter the persistent ones.”

“Were there a lot of those?” Crowley asked a little breathlessly, purposefully stroking their fingers over the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt, letting their knuckles graze lightly over their skin before withdrawing, worried they were overstepping. Worried they were pushing their best friend into something they didn’t really want or weren’t ready for.

Aziraphale almost sighed with disappointment when Crowley withdrew their hand but they didn’t want to make their best friend uncomfortable by wanting too much. “Thankfully, no. But apparently one of them became quite famous.” They couldn’t hide the glint of mischief and amusement in their eyes as they got up and retrieved one of their books, offering it to Crowley. “Read the inscription.”

Crowley was glad of the distraction from their worry. Their eyebrows arched as they read the book’s cover. “The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde? As you saying _Wilde_ -” Aziraphale just pursed their lips and gestured for Crowley to look in the book. Carefully, they opened it up and flipped through to where there was a handwritten note on one of the blank pages. “Mr. Fell, I wanted to dedicate this book to you, but my publisher dissuaded me after a very long and heated exchange. Seems that ‘To that immortal bastard who rebuffed my most ardent affections to pursue rare books instead.’ isn’t considered good form for book dedications. I hope you come to as grueling an end as Gray does.” A shocked laugh escaped Crowley. “What’d you do, that he’d write a whole book to spite you?”

“I honestly have no idea. Apparently he disapproved of my affection for collecting the written word. And do you know the funniest part? I don’t even remember meeting the man! I tried to keep clear of the more, ahem, _risqué_ clubs and patrons, wouldn’t do to get too much attention from upstairs. But every time he’d publish something, I’d get a signed copy with an equally scathing note inscribed inside.” Aziraphale took back the book and wiped a hand over the cover before returning it to the shelf.

“He probably wasn’t the only one,” Crowley murmured, watching them tenderly returning the book to its place on the shelf, knowing for a moment exactly how one could be ferociously jealous of an inanimate object. When Aziraphale sat back down on the couch, Crowley took their hand and impulsively told them, “Whatever persona you might wear, the beauty of you shines through. People can’t resist being drawn to you.”

Flustered by the compliment and the way Crowley was looking at them, Aziraphale found themself babbling to fill the silence, staring down at their clasped hands. “I haven’t noticed it myself. Perhaps other cryptids are immune?” They darted a look at Crowley, who was shaking their head, a fond smile curling their lips, and Aziraphale had to drag their eyes away. “Well, some humans certainly are; it’s quite obvious Shadwell has no fondness for me. Never has really. Speaking of him, you know, I was so confused by what Death told us, but then you started The Game and I was so relieved that you’d figured it out, I could have kissed you-” Aziraphale felt a jolt of something through the bond that had them looking up in concern. Crowley was staring, bright eyes wide and vulnerable and Aziraphale found themself unable to look away. “Crowley?”

“Could you?” Crowley asked breathlessly, darting a look to Aziraphale’s lips. “If you liked? You could? Wouldn’t mind. ‘Sall right with me, if you wanted to.”

Aziraphale’s heart was surely beating loud enough for Crowley to hear it as they shifted closer. “If I wanted to what?” they made themself ask, terrified they were misunderstanding.

“Kiss me,” Crowley breathed, scared and hopeful.

Their breaths both hitched when Aziraphale dared to slip their hand up over Crowley’s arm as they shifted closer to one another. "I’d like that very much.” Aziraphale moved closer yet, trembling to feel Crowley’s breath against their lips. “Would you?"

"Yes." Crowley’s heart leaped as Aziraphale’s hand cupped their cheek and they both gave in to temptation for the first time since 1941, eyelids fluttering closed as their lips brushed and parted and met again. They sat in that tentative embrace for a long moment before Crowley shakily drew away, breathing hard, searching Aziraphale’s expression as the reformed angel sagged back against the couch with a sigh, eyes still closed. “Aziraphale?”

“I’ve wanted to do that again for a very long time.” Aziraphale opened their eyes, smiling a little at the stunned expression Crowley was wearing, knowing they probably looked just as wrecked. “Did I do it right? I know it’s silly but part of me always wondered if I had done so poorly as to send you running-”

“It was perfect,” Crowley blurted, hating that the memory of that night was still haunting both of them. Hated themself for almost taking advantage of their best friend’s gratitude, their kind, generous nature, hated how close they had come to dooming their angel for eternity. Only the tolling of a church bell, like a bucket of cold holy water over their head, had stopped them. “Then and now.”

Aziraphale couldn’t keep the hurt from their voice, also remembering that night, the look of horror on Crowley’s face before they had lurched out of the shop and Aziraphale’s life, again. Remembering the horror in their own heart, at how close they had come to killing their own best friend through their own thoughtless actions. Because they’d foolishly, drunkenly read too much into Crowley’s rescue. Had assumed desiring physical intimacy meant wanting emotional intimacy too and had been too drunk and in love to think of the consequences. “I never meant to imperil-”

“I know.” _I know it was just gratitude. Just loneliness, and that damned cursed hell-cider,_ they didn’t say. Crowley squeezed their eyes shut, unable to stand seeing Aziraphale’s hurt expression and confessed, “It was heaven, better than heaven, being with you again. But I’d almost- I’d have lost you forever, betraying you that way. So I stayed away, as long as I could.”

Sadness swept over Aziraphale for a moment, for both of them. Autumn 1946, a hastily scrawled note shoved through the post slot on the door, warning of a raid on one of the nearby clubs that ‘good upstanding folk’ frowned upon. It might have been signed Crawly or Crowley, or it could have been signed Sorry, but there had been a return address on it. After ensuring there wouldn’t be a raid Aziraphale had, after a week’s dithering, written a very formal invitation in the code to meet in the park where they’d both pretended nothing had happened.

With an inward oath to not make the same mistake twice, Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley’s hand, offering them a smile when they finally opened their eyes again. “But we’re here now. Together. Where we want to be.”

“Is it? Where you want to be?” Crowley asked, looking around at the room and shaking their head. “Don’t you hate it here?”

“No! Why would you say that? It’s yours, I couldn’t hate anything that’s yours,” Aziraphale said, leaning in to cup Crowley’s cheek again. “You’re my very best dearest friend, Crowley. I don’t _hate_ anything about you.”

“Beside my driving,” Crowley tried to joke, looking down at their hands, afraid that they’d say too much if they kept gazing into Aziraphale’s eyes. That saying the words would make their best friend feel obligated to reciprocate in some way. Or they’d have to watch those lovely eyes fill with pity and apologies. That would be worse than not knowing.

“Not even that, for all that it terrifies me on occasion,” Aziraphale assured them. “Not even your attachment to _bebop_ ,” they teased, relieved when Crowley smiled.

“Oh yeah?” Crowley gave them a playful sidelong look, putting those thoughts away.

“Oh, you don’t scare me,” Aziraphale said, making a show of settling themself into the couch and squaring their shoulders as though readying themself for battle. “Do your worst.”

Crowley snapped their fingers, and again ‘I’ll Be Your Mirror’ by The Velvet Underground began playing, not quite loud enough to discern the lyrics. They sat together as the music played, closer but not quite touching. “Angel?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale had their eyes closed, trying to figure out the lyrics to the song, sure that it was the same one Crowley had played earlier. There was something about a mirror anyway.

“Tell me more, about the clubs?” They caught Aziraphale’s sidelong look and smirked. “Since I wasn’t there?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale considered and admitted, “Many of them were dreadfully boring to be honest. Sanctimonious old men complaining about what was wrong with the world, the same old tired nonsense we’ve always heard, from Noah’s village to Mr. Dowling.”

Crowley chuckled. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“And certain young men and their so-called high spirits made me avoid a few of them after a while. But I learned the Gavotte in one club, that was lovely.”

“You, you learned a dance?” Crowley asked in surprise, making themself not stare at the wicked little smile Aziraphale was wearing at the memory.

“I did. It wasn’t actually a _rule_ , per se, the whole angels don’t dance thing. A few of the fellows thought it was a lark, teaching me to dance when I admitted I didn’t know any.” Their eyes went misty as they recalled those young gleeful smiles as they patiently taught Aziraphale the steps. “Only learned the one with any skill, and then it went out of style!”

“They tend to do that,” Crowley agreed. “Never learned anything formal myself.”

“No, you’re not one for formality,” Aziraphale agreed, pleased when they laughed. “In the end found the other clubs to be much more mentally stimulating. That’s how I ended up working with a few suffrage groups.” The reformed angel let out a sigh. “That’s how I met Grandmother Chan, not that she was actually a grandmother when I met her, it was an honorific she earned later, much like Nanny and Granny. She was in her twenties, I think? When Rust hit her with a riding crop outside the shop because she walked in front of his horse, was his excuse. Almost blinded her, would have kept hitting her if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“He _what?”_ Crowley said, sitting up. “I knew he was a rotter-”

“He was. But after that I wasn’t welcome in certain men’s clubs anymore and honestly, I never missed them. I miss her though. She was a good friend.” A faint smile graced their lips as they confessed, “She knew, about me. About us. What we are- were. I assume Lu-Tze told her. She’s the one who sent me word about your caper.”

“I always wondered about that,” Crowley admitted. “I wasn’t exactly being secretive.”

“No and it terrified me,” Aziraphale scolded. “She yelled at me for dithering. So I miracled up a container and blessed the water myself.”

“You- you blessed it yourself.” Crowley slid their hand over Aziraphale’s, letting out a sigh when they held on tightly. “Didn’t realize. Thought you’d gotten it from upstairs.”

“How could you know? Not as though I was going to tell you that I blessed it and then told the water that it could hurt anyone but you. You’d have probably tried gargling with it.”

Crowley laughed helplessly, because they probably weren’t wrong. “You think it worked? Telling it?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I can’t imagine so. On the other hand, you’d walked into a church and didn’t discorporate.” They looked down at their clasped hands and smiled a little nervously. “Had been kissed by an angel without any affects. Maybe you were already immune.”

“Oh, well,” Crowley said, feeling the heat on their cheeks as they said, “haven’t exactly had a lot of angel kisses, to know if I’m immune or not. Not that I’m saying you’re not an angel, but maybe it’s a slow toxin, need multiple exposures…” Crowley wanted to slap themself for saying something so ridiculous but one look at Aziraphale’s blossoming grin had their heart leaping and they were smiling in return. “‘Sonly one way to be sure.”

“You have a point.” And Aziraphale lowered their lashes and kissed Crowley’s knuckles, trying to not giggle when they made a playfully exasperated noise and rolled their eyes. “We have to be scientific about this, my dear.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing,” Crowley said, going a little breathless when they turned their hand over and kissed their wrist. “Science, huh?”

“Clearly.” Aziraphale slid their fingers under the cuff of Crowley’s shirt and gently pushed it up to their elbow, frowning a little to see the pale remainders of the scars from Finks’ spell, and gently stroked their fingers over them. “Shall I continue the experiment?” they asked, watching Crowley through their lashes. When the former demon nodded mutely they lifted their arm and gently kissed the scars there.

“Angel.” Crowley let out a sigh at the sweetness of the gesture and leaned toward them to murmur, “You’re the least toxic thing on this entire planet. The opposite of toxic. Panacea.”

“No, I don’t believe so. But perhaps you’ve become inured,” said Aziraphale, mostly joking. “Enough exposure and it can’t hurt you anymore.”

“What, you’re saying you’re the celestial version of iocane powder?” Crowley laughed, missing the startled look Aziraphale gave them. “No, nope, not possible. After this long, I know you far too well for that. There’s nothing stealthily poisonous about you.”

“Ah, quite right, blatantly poisonous-” They laughed at Crowley’s spluttered protest and shifted a little closer. “Crowley..?” Their smile went a little wobbly as they tried to jokingly ask, “Might we? Kiss? Just to be sure…”

“I, uh, yeah, I mean, if you’d like,” Crowley said, eyes drawn to their lips, shifting closer and meeting them halfway. When they both pulled away Crowley rested their brow against Aziraphale’s, eyes still closed. “Definitely not toxic. Maybe intoxicating.”

“Yes, intoxicating,” Aziraphale murmured. “It’s quite lovely.”

“We could continue the experiment. See what daily exposure brings. If you’re interested, I mean, I’m interested but if you’re not that’s okay-” Crowley’s eyes popped open when Aziraphale pressed a finger over their lips, and they relaxed to see their smile.

“I think that is an excellent idea. In fact, I have another experiment I’d like to try.” Aziraphale hesitated, worried that what they were considering would ruin the mood. They twisted Crowley’s ring nervously, momentarily distracted to see the purple had overtaken the entirety of the stone, leaving a small core of swirled green and blue. _Really must figure out what purple means. Maybe passion? But that can’t be right. That sort of passion can’t even be felt fully without making an effort, which I’m not..._

Crowley frowned with concern at Aziraphale’s worried expression, slipping their arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders to give them a reassuring hug. “What’s this?”

 _It’s going to ruin the mood and Crowley will never want to be intimate with me again,_ Aziraphale kept thinking. “There, there is something that I’ve been curious about.”

“Hmm?” Crowley eased back just far enough so they could look at their angel’s face, not liking the worry in their green eyes. “Promise, you won’t upset me, whatever it is.”

“I just...” Aziraphale closed their eyes and admitted, “I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

“Tell me, angel.” Crowley’s concern melted away as Aziraphale blurted it out and they couldn’t stop the smile that was tugging at their lips. “Is that all?”

“Well, to start?” Aziraphale stroked their hand nervously over Crowley’s arm.

“I’ll admit, I’ve been curious about it myself. Didn’t really see the appeal,” Crowley admitted, sliding off of the couch and urging Aziraphale up as well, leading them down the hall.

Aziraphale blushed and followed Crowley into the bedroom, the big bed with its black and red coverlet drawing their eye. “You’re not upset? I know it’s probably not what you were expecting...”

Crowley gave Aziraphale another reassuring hug. “Nope, not upset. I’m willing to give it a go.”

“Are, are you sure?” Again, Aziraphale’s eyes went to the bed, breathless with anticipation. “I, I am quite a bit heavier than you.”

“I trust you to fix whatever you might break,” Crowley murmured, taking Aziraphale’s hand and leading them to the bed. “Let me tempt you, angel. Haven’t you been nice long enough?”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, captivated by the look in Crowley’s eyes as the former demon climbed onto the bed and held out their hands invitingly. “Temptation accomplished.”

**∞**

Utterly spent, Aziraphale collapsed down onto the bed with Crowley, careful to not put too much of their weight on them as they both panted for breath. The covers were tangled, forgotten at the foot of the bed, most of the pillows scattered around the room, one nightstand upended when Aziraphale had gotten a little too rough. They were both flushed from their efforts and sweat darkened their hair, and Crowley legs were trembling from the unaccustomed effort. “Damn,” Crowley gasped, mustering up just enough energy to look towards Aziraphale. “If I’d known...”

“How, how could we have?” Aziraphale said, turning to give Crowley a beaming smile. “Thank you for indulging me, my dear.”

“My pleasure, angel. I hope all your whimsies prove that enjoyable,” they murmured tiredly, smiling in return. “I never imagined it’d be that much fun.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “I always thought it looked rather exciting.”

“Seemed like gravity would ruin it, honestly.” Crowley let out a slow breath as their heart finally began to slow. “But it was almost like we could escape gravity for a little while.”

“It was,” Aziraphale agreed, closing their eyes to relive that first giddy rush of giving in to temptation. “I rather look forward to doing it again. Once we’ve recovered.”

“You’ve got more endurance than I expected,” Crowley teased, mustering up the energy to toss their pillow onto the floor and turn onto their side so they were laying face to face. “I’m glad we stopped when we did. Don’t think I could’ve gone on for much longer.”

“Well, I do walk everywhere,” Aziraphale reminded them with playful primness, reaching out tenderly to move a sweat-darkened curl of hair away from Crowley’s eye. “Unlike some people.”

“Hey, I walk lots. Usually with you.” Crowley shifted closer to rest their cheek against Aziraphale’s out-flung left arm, enjoying the sensation of resting their cheek against the soft warm fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt. “‘Snot like that’s going to translate to jumping ability. Not exactly known for their jumping, snakes.”

“No, true enough,” Aziraphale chuckled, indulging themself in toying with the curl of hair when Crowley shifted closer. “Are you sure you’re not upset? You were quite stern with them when you caught them breaking the rules.”

“Angel, if anyone is going to encourage _you_ to break some rules, it’s _me_.” Crowley sighed with pleasure at the sensation of Aziraphale gently playing with their hair and stroked their fingers over Aziraphale’s right arm, toying with the soft rolled up cuff of their shirt. “Besides, it’s only a rule for kids because they could get hurt,” Crowley reminded them. “That’s the main reason why they weren’t allowed to jump on the beds. But I let them have all the pillow fights they wanted.” They cracked open one eye to give Aziraphale a sly smile. “Which is why I definitely won the pillow fight. I know all the best tactics.”

“You most certainly did not win,” Aziraphale huffed, trying to keep from smiling. “You cheated, miracling my second pillow away.”

“You knocked the table over. Besides, dual wielding ’sagainst the rules I just made up,” Crowley insisted, laughing at the face Aziraphale made as they miracled the table and everything on it back to rights. “So, after we’ve had a day or two to recover, what would you like to try next? You had quite a list.”

“Ooh, there’s so much,” Aziraphale said dreamily, rolling onto their back to stare up at the ceiling. “Hmm, swings, definitely, and the slides always looked like fun. Are there ones sturdy enough for adults?”

Crowley grinned and propped themself up on their elbow to look down into Aziraphale’s face. “How have you been on this planet this long, and you’ve never been on a swing?”

“I’ve been on a porch swing,” Aziraphale protested, slipping their arm under Crowley’s and stroking a hand over their back to warm them when they shivered. The close contact was so lovely, Aziraphale sighed with the pleasure of it. “But they’re rather sedate in comparison to the ones children use. And they all look rather flimsy. I’m not exactly small.”

“There are absolutely ones strong enough for adults,” Crowley murmured, grinning at how nice it felt to be so close together. They stroked their hand over Aziraphale’s shirt, toying with the still buttoned buttons on their waistcoat, thrilled with every pleased smile and sigh Aziraphale gave. “You’ve looked this way for as long as I can remember, so what’s with the sudden worry about your size?”

Aziraphale looked away, deflating a little. “I, well, I know I’m not, not really fashionable or attractive in a conventional sense. I suppose I could-”

“No no no no no,” Crowley broke in, catching Aziraphale’s hand in theirs before their angel could think to do anything rash. “You’re plenty attractive exactly as you are. Extremely attractive. I almost discorporated when you rolled your sleeves up. And fashion, psh, it’s nonsense! Rubbish rules made up to sell stuff to people with more money than sense.”

Aziraphale chuckled a little but shook their head. “I can’t see it.”

“Of course not,” Crowley murmured, cupping Aziraphale’s cheek and kissing away the tear that had escaped. “But I see it, I’ve always seen it,” they murmured, kissing their way gently over Aziraphale’s cheek and back to their mouth. “I’ll just keep telling you until you believe me.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, tears in their eyes, kissing Crowley tenderly in return. “I don’t deserve you,” they whispered, hugging Crowley close, pressing their face against Crowley’s shoulder when more tears came.

“Bollocks,” Crowley responded, relieved when Aziraphale chuckled, but their heart ached at the idea that what had happened was out of a misguided sense of gratitude or obligation. “Maybe I’m your punishment, you think of that? Saddled with me for the rest of eternity-” They gave their wickedest smile when Aziraphale looked at them, but it didn’t reach their eyes.

“Punishment? Oh, no, that word definitely doesn’t suit the situation at all,” Aziraphale corrected, stroking their knuckles over Crowley’s cheek.

“Torment, torture, sssuffering-”

The edge in Crowley’s voice had Aziraphale scowling with affront. “No! Most certainly not! I won’t have you besmirching my best friend that way!”

Crowley blinked and smirked. “Or what? You’ll call me out? Challenge me to a duel?”

“Absolutely.” Aziraphale ran their hand over Crowley’s back, urging them closer. “And I will make you disavow those terrible words, dragon.”

“Dragon, huh?” The reformed angel’s sly expression had Crowley grinning as they twirled a lock of Aziraphale’s hair around one of their fingers. “Magic, swords, or pistols at dawn?”

“Kissing,” Aziraphale responded hopefully. They were both flushed and smiling when they parted and Aziraphale stammered out, “D-do you yield, dragon?”

Crowley hummed and opened one eye, taking in Aziraphale’s delightfully mussed appearance and the beaming happiness on their face, amazed to know they were what had put it there. “I think if anyone’s going to yield, it’s you, angel.”

Aziraphale snorted and shook their head. “And why’s that, pray tell?”

“Got you trapped in my lair.” A snap of their fingers had the door closing and a series of locks that hadn’t existed until a moment ago clicking, snapping, rattling and clanging shut.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up at seeing the ridiculous array of locks cluttering up the bedroom door. “Oh dear, how dreadful. But I must stay strong, to defend my best friend’s honor. Stoic, and unafraid. Do your very worst.”

Crowley grinned and snapped again, letting The Velvet Underground start playing again, almost loud enough for the lyrics to be heard.

Aziraphale sniffed dismissively. “Bebop is no match for my noble quest. Renounce your vile calumny, dragon!”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Crowley snorted, and snapped their fingers again, grinning when Aziraphale frowned, not yet noticing what they’d done. “Eternal torment.”

“I don’t-” Their eyes narrowed when they spotted the TV that had appeared on the wall, and the terrible opening credits of The Sound Of Music. “Wicked, and clever, but I will not yield. This is for my very best friend in the universe. Take the words back. Or else.”

“This is my lair, angel. What have you got to _or else_ me about, huh?”

Aziraphale’s smile went delightfully wicked. “Perhaps, if this continues, I will have to resort to… magic.” And they held up a deck of cards.

“No!” Crowley wailed, trying to grab for the cards but Aziraphale held them out of reach, both of them laughing as they vied for possession of the deck. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would! And I will, if you don’t take the words back!” Aziraphale threatened, almost distracted when Crowley skimmed a kiss over their lips but slipping the deck out of their reach at the last moment. “Wily dragon, but you can’t distract me so easily.”

“Ugh!” Crowley sprawled half across Aziraphale’s chest and pouted playfully. “Fine.”

“Say the words,” Aziraphale demanded much the way they’d heard Warlock and his friends do, grinning when Crowley glowered at them. “You are not a punishment. Or else.”

“I’mnotapunishment,” they mumbled, rolling their eyes and repeating it louder and fully enunciated when Aziraphale shuffled the deck. “I am not a punishment.”

“That wasn’t so terrible, now was it,” said Aziraphale, vanishing the cards, the television, and the locks, but leaving the music playing lowly in the background.

Crowley didn’t move from their sprawl, their cheek resting over Aziraphale’s heart, eyes closed as the listened to it beat. “Terrible.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale smiled ever so fondly, stroking their hands over Crowley’s shoulders. “I suppose the only proper thing for me to do is to tend you, while you recover from this grievous affront to your pride. If you’ll allow me the honor?”

“Suppose so.” Crowley let out a sigh as they unfurled their wings, hoping it wasn’t too obvious how desperately close to tears they were. They wanted to hold on a never let go.

Aziraphale could feel them tensing to move away but gently set a hand to their shoulder. “Stay?” Crowley let out a heavy sigh that Aziraphale could almost swear sounded like, _As you wish,_ but with the music playing, the reformed angel couldn’t really be sure it wasn’t just wishful thinking. On some level, it felt like the whole evening had been wishful thinking and they weren’t going to let anything to ruin it. Especially not their own needy heart.


	36. Storm-clouds And Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley have a quiet morning in, then Crowley goes to help Esk while Aziraphale stays in the shop and has a visit from Erica and Rose.

“Mornin’, angel.”

Aziraphale hastily closed their book and set it into the nightstand’s drawer, smiling down at Crowley, who had one eye blearily cracked open and was offering a tendril of their outer aura. “Hello. Has your poor wounded pride recovered?”

Crowley smirked and buried their face in their pillow, shaking their head when Aziraphale’s outer aura reentwined with theirs. It was so familiar for their auras to be meshed, that it felt off to _not_ have that connection. “Dunno that it’ll ever recover, you threatening me with _card tricks_ in my own lair like that.”

“Oh dear. I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you.” Aziraphale chuckled, sinking both of their hands into the feathers on the underside of Crowley’s wing, doing the equivalent of celestial deep tissue massage, making Crowley hum appreciatively and stretch their wing to its fullest. “It was rather extreme of me, I admit, but… you fell victim to one of the classic blunders; never go against an angel when their best friend’s honor is on the line,” Aziraphale said, watching Crowley sidelong, letting out a little sigh when Crowley just chuckled drowsily. _Just wishful thinking then. Why must I always read too much into everything?_

When Crowley’s eyes popped open in sudden recognition, Aziraphale was focused on their ministrations and missed seeing it. _That’s from- but it’s a movie. Maybe they- no, they wouldn’t have seen it without saying something, would they? Gah, stop looking for meaning in everything!_ Crowley shoved the thought away. “You know I’m going to milk this for all it’s worth, right?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I’d be shocked if you didn’t, my dear. I’d do the same, in your place.” With a sly look they found a tensed area and began to work it lose, grinning when Crowley twitched and spluttered before relaxing as the tension eased away. “It’s been a while since we’ve been able to do this.” _Paris._ Where everything fell apart. They sighed.

“Ngh, yeah. Missed it.” _Missed you_ , Crowley thought, another twitch and splutter escaping when they found a tensed area to work. Cracking open an eye, they glowered fondly. “Cruel.”

“Terribly,” Aziraphale agreed blandly, making Crowley snort. “Now for the worst spots-” The words ended in a startled gasp when they turned on the overhead light, revealing the gray covert feathers on the backs of their wings had developed pale golden highlights, reminiscent of the sun shining through storm-clouds.

Crowley had pushed up onto their elbow at the gasp and was staring at their own feathers in surprise. “Huh.” They slid a look at Aziraphale and murmured, “Maybe angel kisses do have an effect.”

Aziraphale blushed but shook their head. “That can’t possibly be it… can it?”

Crowley shrugged, licking their lips nervously. “Well, the experiment was your idea. We could, you know, continue? If you’d like? Always willing, for science,” they said, unable to keep the hopefulness from their voice, letting their wing curl slightly around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale smiled and leaned over, giving them a few brief sweet kisses and easing away, watching Crowley’s face. “How do you feel? Anything?”

 _Happy_ , Crowley thought but didn’t say, shaking their head after a moment of taking stock. “Same. Anything change?” The gilding on their outer coverts was unchanged, and there was no sign of the gold anywhere else. Crowley joked, “Maybe it’s from holding hands.”

“Oh! That makes sense.” Aziraphale said, waving a hand at Crowley’s disbelieving smirk. “Metaphysically, mingling our outer auras, it’s, to me at least, always equated to holding hands or hugging. But it seems likely that continual contact would have, er, lasting influences. Much the way spending a lot of time in someone’s company will.”

“Hard to believe they’ve changed so much just ‘cause we’re spending time together. We’ve spent the last decade practically living to- under one roof,” Crowley corrected.

“We were still bound to opposing sides then,” Aziraphale said quietly. “And we haven’t mingled like this since before the fall. Perhaps the changes were always there, underneath, and it’s taken this long for _their_ influences to fully wear off?” they suggested.

“Huh, yeah, maybe.” Crowley moved to sit crosslegged closer to the foot of the bed, their wings furled closed but not away and gestured. “Well, one way to be sure, yeah? Your wings’ll be different too if it’s influences wearing off, but they’ll have some of my colors if it’s from us _mingling,_ right?”

“Yes, that seems likely.” Aziraphale unfurled their wings and splayed the left one out on the bed to show the back of it. The shafts of the parchment-colored coverts had turned a dark steely gray and Aziraphale tried to ignore the odd sense of not-quite-rightness they felt at seeing them that way, a mix of disappointment and sadness. “Ah. Are the colors the same?”

Crowley shifted their right wing closer to Aziraphale’s, to get a better look at the marks, frowning as they ran their fingers over the gilding. “Yeah, looks like they match.” _No, this is wrong,_ they found themself thinking, not really sure how they knew it, or how it was wrong.

“How fashionable,” Aziraphale said playfully, getting a brief smirk from Crowley, fidgeting with the ring when Crowley returned to frowning at their wings. It hurt a little, to think Crowley disliked the faint expression of their influence, but- _But they’re allowed to want to present themself however they see fit_ , they scolded themself and told Crowley, “It’s not noted in any texts that I’ve read, but I’m quite confident that you, er, you can make the gold go away, if you don’t like it. Only makes sense, being corporeal manifestations of our powers, that we can control them, to a much finer degree now that we are no longer bound within the Hosts.”

Crowley blinked distractedly and looked up at Aziraphale. “Really?” They looked back down at their wings when Aziraphale nodded. “Any idea how?”

Aziraphale smiled a little and shrugged. “I should imagine that imagining them how you want them to be would be enough?”

“Heh, yeah, makes sense.” Crowley splayed their hands over the gilded feathers and closed their eyes as they considered, thinking over a dozen different ideas before sighing in relief when one struck them with a feeling of _right_. A moment’s thought and they pulled their hands away and fanned their wings, grinning, quite pleased with the change. “What d’ya think?”

Aziraphale blinked and then blinked again at the tears pricking their eyes. “Crowley-”

The smile faltered. “You don’t-”

“They’re lovely!” Aziraphale corrected, running their fingers over the altered feathers when Crowley draped their wing over Aziraphale’s lap in clear invitation.

“They didn’t look right, the other way.”

“Oh, oh, you felt it too? That they weren’t quite right?” Aziraphale asked, relieved when Crowley nodded. “I didn’t want to say anything, to make you think I didn’t like it, our wings showing our shared colors. Quite the opposite really.”

Crowley continued nodding in agreement. “And I, eh, just figured, you know, the, the whole my wings to yours thing, right?” they said, looking down at the large iridescent golden-bronze eyespot they’d adorned each wing with, like the sun breaking through the clouds. “This is you watching out for me. Always.”

“Always.” Aziraphale’s eyes went soft and they blinked more tears away. “I, er, I am quite fond of that sentiment, that we’re guarding each other. Would it upset you, if I, er, mimicked the affect on my own wings?” they asked nervously.

“Nah,” shrugged Crowley, trying to downplay how flattered they were by the idea and failing. “Go ahead. Whatever you like.”

Aziraphale slid their hands over their own feathers, revealing that they’d added a dark purple-blue eyespot at the tip of every few steel-spined covert, arrayed in an eye-pleasing pattern. “There,” the reformed angel beamed, a feeling of _rightness_ settling over them. “In honor of how often you’ve _looked out_ for me.”

Crowley chuckled and shifted closer, giving Aziraphale a quick look for permission before running their fingers through Aziraphale’s feathers, smiling with surprise when the eyespots flared into bright jewel-tone colors when the light struck them just right. “Suits you.” They gently started working on Aziraphale’s wing, easing the tension away.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured, relaxing into the soothing massage. “I like that our wings are showing that we’re our own side now. That there’s a little bit of you here,” they said, favoring Crowley with a pleased smile.

“Me too.” Crowley shifted closer yet, twitching their wing and grinning when Aziraphale took the hint and continued their ministrations with a playful sigh that turned into a squeak when Crowley found a tensed spot on Aziraphale’s wing and began to work on it. “Forgot about that,” Crowley grinned, laughing when they got another squeak out of them.

“You did not,” Aziraphale said with a playful sulk and growl after another squeak escaped.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Crowley admitted, resting their shoulders together. “I just forgot how cute it was,” they teased, pleased by the faint blush that stained Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale didn’t know what else to say to that, so just continued to ease their best friend’s tensions away with a contented sigh as they did the same.

It felt unreal, too good to be true, but neither allowed themself to think about anything too closely, not wanting to ruin it, knowing the interlude could only last so long. It was midmorning when they finally left for the shop, neither one saying much, knowing that reality would interfere soon enough and disturb the relaxed contentment they’d created.

They were just sitting down when Crowley’s mobile buzzed and they both tensed in concern as the former demon checked it. When Crowley relaxed Aziraphale relaxed as well, guessing, “Esk?”

“Yeah, asking to meet in the park. I’m thinking we’ll hang out at the bandstand, should be deserted, and you can call or check in on the compass if you need anything, yeah?” Crowley said, pushing themself to their feet.

Aziraphale sighed but nodded, holding out their hand to Crowley. “Give her my regards and do invite her to stop in, if she has time later.” They surprised Crowley with a kiss to their knuckles, smiling to see them get flustered. “I am becoming surprisingly fond of having visitors.”

Crowley cleared their throat and nodded. “Yeah. Kinda nice, having friends for once.” They slipped on their glasses and darted in to press a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead before hurrying out of the shop, unaware of the pleased smirk they were wearing. Or that their mutual gestures of affection had been witnessed.

**∞**

Esk jumped when Crowley appeared in the bandstand with her, giving them a playful glare. “How’d you do that?”

“Er, part of my powers, going unseen when I want,” Crowley explained with a shrug. “Bit of a habit, after a few thousand years.”

She snorted. “I imagine so. Is that the hiding thing Aziraphale mentioned?”

“Yeah. It’s been handy, keeping us out of sight of either side,” they said, leaning against the railing and taking in Esk’s appearance. “How’re you doing?”

“Cautiously good,” she said with a chuckle, getting an understanding smirk from them. “I mean, Simon is doing better and that makes me so relieved but… but there’s so much else going on,” she said, holding out her hands to emulate a pair of scales, one side dropping all the way down. “Politics, in general and at the University, the other really worrying stuff going on at the University, brief existential crises when I think a little too long about things,” she said with a hoarse laugh. “I just want to stay home with Simon and pretend the world doesn’t exist, you know?”

“Yeah.” Crowley let out a rueful laugh and nodded in agreement. “You should.”

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

Crowley grinned. “Not all the time, obviously, but you should, stay home, be together, let yourself not worry for a bit. Hard part, I know, but it doesn’t help anyone, wearing yourself down. I keep trying to tell Aziraphale that, but they’ve got a will like, like steel sometimes. They’ll worry themself to pieces if I let them and I hate seeing them that way, knowing I can’t make it better.” Crowley frowned at having said that out loud. “Er-”

“Yes, exactly,” Esk soothed. “But you know they wouldn’t want you worrying either, and neither do we. You’ve got a lot on your shoulders, especially now. And, er, I understand you’ve been taking care of a cockatrice egg..?” she asked playfully, grinning when they laughed.

“Agnes told you?” Crowley guessed, letting out another chuckle when she nodded, summoning the S. M. E. and tossing it to her. “Yeah, real hard work, taking care of this.”

“It, it really is a chocolate egg,” she laughed, noticing that some of it had actually been broken off and presumably eaten before being carefully rewrapped in the golden foil.

“Yup,” Crowley laughed. “They’ve probably been savoring it since May.” Crowley peeled back the foil and took a piece, humming in appreciation. “Never does anything by half measures. Have some, they’ll scold if I don’t share.”

Esk took a piece, eyes going wide when she tasted it. “That’s way better than-”

“Miracled food. Never goes bad, never makes you sick, and when the angel making it is Aziraphale, it tastes like heaven.” Crowley fidgeted under the knowing look Esk gave them and magicked away the egg. “Right. So. Time and the stopping thereof. Show me how you do it.”

Esk hid her smile behind finishing her piece of chocolate before bracing herself against the railing and calling up her magic to envelop the two of them in a bubble of out-time. Sweat popped out on her brow, and when it was done she watched Crowley as they stared at nothing, pacing around her, face set in curious lines. “Well?” she said, still trying to catch her breath.

“Brilliant,” Crowley said, gesturing for her to let the power go. “We can work with this. You might as well settle in, this’ll take a while. But we’ve got time.” They flashed her a grin and snapped their fingers.

**∞**

Aziraphale tried to start on cataloging the new old books but kept finding themself smiling at the ring, Crowley’s ring, and the bright swirl of colors surrounded by a band of purple around the edge. Kept dreamily thinking of the evening before and the morning and the closeness with Crowley that was at once exhilarating and terrifying. _How do I keep them from finding out about my feelings? I can’t lie, but I can’t, won’t burden them with my feelings either. Perhaps they won’t figure it out? It’s been this long without them knowing, surely it’s not too terribly obvious that I’m in love with them. That I’ve been in love with them. That I still want…_

Aziraphale dragged their thoughts away from that precipice. _Well, doesn’t matter what I want, that ship sailed without me, if there was even a ship there to begin with. What matters, really matters, is that Crowley is safe and happy and that I don’t do anything to jeopardize that or our friendship or the closeness they’re sharing with me._

 _It really is lovely, being able to be close without fear of repercussions, like the old days but different too. Better. We’re free now, and on our own side,_ they thought, smiling to think again of their wings and the exchange of colors. _And kissing them is even more delightful than I remembered. I imagine being sober and un-cursed makes all the difference._

They were so caught up in their thoughts that they didn’t notice when the door eased open and someone stepped stealthily inside, watching them for a long moment through the bookcase before whirling around and slamming the door shut in their wake.

Aziraphale jumped and hurried around the bookcase to look, but the shop was empty and whoever it was was long gone by the time they went to look outside. But they put the odd experience out of their mind when they caught sight of Erica lurking near the corner and she perked up at seeing them, hurrying over but hesitating on the step. “Hi! Er, Angel?”

They beamed at her. “Hello dear, this is a lovely surprise. Do you have time for a visit? I was just about to make some tea.” When she shyly nodded Aziraphale led her inside, making a beeline for the back to start the water and magic up another tin of biscuits. “How are you doing? I’m sorry you had to avoid the shop for a few days.”

“It’s alright,” Erica said, curling up in one of the chairs and watching Aziraphale putter about, slowly relaxing as the atmosphere of the shop settled in around her, like a security blanket. “You and Crowley didn’t have a fight, did you?” Erica asked worriedly. “I saw them zooming off in their car.”

“Oh, well, Crowley always drives in a hurry,” said Aziraphale with a fond smile. “They’re meeting with our friend Esk to discuss, er, well, magic actually.”

“Really?” Erica considered asking about that when Aziraphale nodded but changed the subject instead. “They shut down the charity, did you hear?”

“We’ve been rather distracted, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale admitted, setting the teapot on the table along with a pair of mugs. “Was it on the television?”

She doctored her tea and took a biscuit to dip, nodding as she quickly devoured a few. “They’re still trying to identify the kids in the video. Mom and Uncle both saw it.”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, watching her closely, worried that she looked even more gaunt than she had. Stress? Or the demon’s kiss? “You didn’t get in any trouble I hope-”

“Nah, they didn’t even recognize me.” She shrugged sharply and blinked hard, pulling out the handkerchief Aziraphale had given her, now a grimy wrinkled mess from hard use, and wiped at her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if they’d even notice if I didn’t go back,” she said thickly, taking Aziraphale’s hand when they offered it and holding on tightly.

“I think they would.” Aziraphale frowned at the handkerchief until it was pristinely white and wrinkle free again, and gently squeezed Erica’s hand. “And I would notice and be quite concerned if you left without word. Cousin?”

“Do you mean it?” she asked, doing a double-take when she noticed the handkerchief.

Aziraphale smiled when she looked back at them. “I very much do mean it. You still have my card, yes? Call me whenever you need to, alright? If you can’t reach me here, try Crowley’s numbers. Or you can find our friend Esk at the University-”

Erica shrugged but nodded when Aziraphale favored her with a concerned look. “I have your card. You, uh, you aren’t spending the night here like you used to?” she dared to point out.

“Oh, well.” Aziraphale could feel their cheeks getting hot. “Crowley has very generously offered to share their flat with me so that’s where we are most nights.”

“Warlock said you two were best friends but I didn’t really believe him,” she admitted, fascinated to see them blushing even more. “Is he going to be grounded forever?”

Aziraphale chuckled and shook their head. “A few months most likely. That reminds me, his mother wanted us to pass on her gratitude, for helping him, and sent this for you,” they said, going to their desk and retrieving a card that had come in the post.

Erica’s eyes lit up as she carefully opened the envelope, gasping when she saw the two pre-paid gift cards inside. She quickly read the note and wiped at her eyes again. “They, uh, they say thanks and stuff and one card’s from Mrs. Dowling and the other’s from Warlock and it’s got his mobile number, for when he gets to use it again.”

“You know, we could see about getting you a mobile,” Aziraphale suggested, not sure exactly how they would manage it but knowing Crowley and the witches would have ideas. “I can ask some friends, if you’d like?”

“Really? That’d be so cool! And you could get one too then we could text and stuff!”

“Ah, well, we’ll see about that.”

Erica grinned at Aziraphale’s evasion and smothered a wide yawn, admitting, “Sorry. Haven’t been sleeping much the last couple nights. Had a nightmare Monday night…” She closed her eyes and shivered, missing the very worried look Aziraphale gave her.

“Would you like to tell me, what it was about?”

“I don’t really remember much,” she hedged. “I was in a dark smelly place and there was this monster who’s like, a boss or something, and he’s telling me things,” she admitted. “Astfgl.”

“Bless you,” said Aziraphale automatically.

Erica giggled and shook her head. “No, that’s the monster’s name. Astfgl.” She let out a heavy sigh and admitted, “I, uh, I’ve dreamed of him before. But I’m having the dreams more often than I used to and I don’t know what to do. Mom says it’s just my imagination, and Uncle says I should listen more closely.” She frowned down at her tea and admitted, “But I don’t want to listen to Uncle or Astfgl.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale considered for a moment and then solemnly offered, “I know magic that can protect you, if you want these dreams to stop. But it works best if you’re really sure that you don’t want to listen to him anymore.”

“Oh, really? Yes, please!” She shuddered. “I really don’t want to hear him anymore.”

“I’ll just be a moment then,” Aziraphale said with a nod, getting up and making a show of looking through their cabinets, miracling up a small smoked glass bottle filled with pure water scented lightly with lavender and chamomile. Clasping it in both hands, eyes closed, Aziraphale murmured, too lowly for Erica to hear, “I bless this in the name of Crowley, Celestial Dragon, Guardian of the Western Gate, Herald of Dusk, Keeper of Secrets and Storms.” There was a rush of warmth through the bond and a sparkling sheen that gleamed with iridescence surrounded the bottle for a moment before fading.

Aziraphale smiled with relief to feel the black compass hum in their pocket and quickly activated the spell and flipped open the lid, speaking before Crowley could say anything. “Hello Crowley, can’t talk long, in the middle of making a little magic for Erica.” In their mind’s eye they could see Crowley at the bandstand, with Esk looking on in concern and curiosity.

“Oh, er, everything alright?” Crowley’s voice was as clear as if they were there in the room with them and Erica craned her neck, intrigued by the magical compass in their hand.

“Nothing too serious. She’s having nightmares so I’m making her a little something to let her sleep without being disturbed by, what was his name?” Aziraphale asked her.

“Astfgl,” she answered.

Crowley swore under their breath, too lowly for Erica to hear, though Aziraphale certainly did. :That’s _Lord_ Astfgl, leader of the Dark Council. Put every last blessing in there that you can, she’s going to need them.:

:Yes, I was afraid that was going to be the case,: Aziraphale replied, trying to keep their expression light and confident. “Everything going well with you two?”

“Oh yeah. Won’t keep you, hi to Erica from us.”

“Hi!”

“She heard you. Mind how you go.” Aziraphale closed the compass and slipped it back into its pocket, murmuring their own blessing over the bottle, turning the cap and base golden. The dark glass shimmered with iridescence when they held it up to the light.

“Wow.”

Aziraphale smiled at her wide-eyed wonder. “This has been enchanted by both Crowley and myself. Now, every time you’re going to sleep, you put your middle and pointer fingers over the opening and tip the bottle so they get wet and you wipe the water over your eyelids,” Aziraphale explained, miming the action for her. “And one dab right in the middle of your forehead, and then you say; Now I lay me down to snooze, and I shall dream how I choose: rainbows and dragons and gryphons galore, Astfgl the sneeze, bother me no more!” That got a giggle, exactly as Aziraphale hoped and they made her repeat it until she had the words memorized, giggling more every time she said it. “The more dramatic the better. It might take a few nights to take full effect, but that’s to be expected.”

They etched and gilded the directions and the saying into the glass with another touch of magic before offering it to Erica, who reverently accepted it and cautiously sniffed, closing her eyes with a happy smile. “I’m gonna go try it right now!” she said, jumping up.

Aziraphale walked with her to the door, surprised to find Rose just about to knock as they pulled the door open. “Oh, Rose, hello. You’re early, everything alright?”

“Van broke down,” she said with an eyeroll. “So I’m stuck until the repair comes out, figured you wouldn’t mind a little company. Hi, I’m Rose,” she said, giving a little wave to Erica, who was shyly hiding behind Aziraphale.

“Hi. Erica.”

“Rose is a good friend of mine, she grew up around here. Mrs. Anthony is her mother, you might have met her.”

“She was in an accident,” Erica remembered. “I’m really sorry, is she okay?”

“She’s getting better,” said Rose. “Thanks for asking. I can go if you two have plans?”

“No, I need to go home. I, uh, thanks again, er, Angel. Talk to you soon,” she promised, holding out her arm for a hug, the other hand in her pocket, keeping a hold of the bottle and the two gift cards. Aziraphale bent to give her a quick hug and after a shy wave at Rose she slipped out the door and was gone.

“Do come in,” said Aziraphale, waving Rose inside and closing the door behind her. “Tea? Crowley’s away for a bit, dealing with business,” they said when she frowned at the empty couch.

“Ah. So how is that going?” Rose asked with a grin, eyebrows winging upward when Aziraphale blushed. “Oh really _?”_

Aziraphale chuckled and shook their head, waving it away and leading her into the back. Rose settled in Erica’s chair, accepting a mug of tea and taking a few biscuits. “Speaking of Mom, she told me to tell you that Karen’s been lurking around the shop and asking questions. And she had a ‘smarmy bloke’, Mom’s words, with her yesterday, looking over the buildings.”

Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh. “Probably a prospective buyer. Or another victim,” they mumbled under their breath, taking a sip of their tea. “Give her my thanks, will you? I, er, had a couple unfortunate encounters with Karen this week and I’m not sure I’ll be able to convince her to sell to the preservation society.”

“What, she saw you and Crowley together and the claws came out?” guessed Rose, letting out a startled laugh when Aziraphale almost spat out their tea, blushing again. “ _Really??_ ”

“Did everyone know what she was plotting except me?” Aziraphale asked with amused embarrassment. “Crowley spotted it right away, as well. Had a grand laugh about it.”

“You just prefer to see the good in people,” Rose soothed. “And she’s been playing it up for you, we peons don’t rank getting the time of day let alone her whole performance. She’s a real b-,” Rose noticed the look Aziraphale was giving her and finished, “bother.”

“Hmm,” agreed Aziraphale with a playful smile.

“So… shit,” she said when her mobile rang, quickly answering. After a moment she disconnected and got up. “Repair’s heading for the van, and I need to be there. Ugh, I’ll be back later, lips still sealed,” she promised, giving them a quick hug and bolting outside.

Aziraphale cleaned up and returned to their desk, hoping to finally settle in and get started on cataloging the books.


	37. No Lies Detected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another run in with Karen in which Crowley wields the truth with great finesse.

“Good start, good work, but that’s enough for now,” Crowley told Esk when she started showing signs of fatigue. “Almost discorporated myself a few times, trying to work when I was too tired, probably be a lot worse for you.”

Esk nodded, stretching out her back and neck, wobbling a little and wilting back against the railing. “I blacked out one time, scared Simon half to death. Scared myself half to death,” she laughed. “Rather not do that again.”

“As you’ve seen, food helps,” Crowley said, summoning up the now mostly eaten chocolate egg and breaking off a chunk for themself and giving her the rest. “Finish that and then we can get something more filling. Bring something back for Aziraphale too, a peace offering for taking the egg as a spoil of war,” they laughed.

“So what’s the toy?” Esk asked, carefully shaking the brightly decorated interior egg. It didn’t make a sound. “Is there a toy?”

Crowley shrugged. “Probably? Miracling things is all about belief, so if they believed there’d be a prize when they made it, well.”

A little careful searching found a tiny latch and she carefully eased the interior egg open, gasping in amazement. “Wow!”

Crowley shook their head and helped her free the delicate glass figure from the egg. “See what I mean? Who beside Aziraphale would imagine a glass phoenix in there, like some sort of chocolate Fabergé egg?”

“And they just, just made this, from magic?” she asked in amazement. “For fun?”

“Yeah. They, er, they haven’t really been allowed to indulge in creativity very much,” Crowley said, smiling to realize it looked a lot like the Chan’s phoenix, not sure what to make of the fact that the new eyespots on their wings resembled the multi-hued eyespots on the phoenix. “So they’d make pretty things to give away before upstairs could find out.”

“Oh. How are we going to get it back there without breaking it?” Esk worried, gasping when Crowley grabbed it and tossed it on the ground, and laughing in shock when it bounced back into the air with a resonate chiming noise and they caught it. “Wha?”

“Miracles don’t break very easy,” Crowley grinned, offering it to her. “Keep it, for all your hard work today. Trust me, they can miracle up another any time they want.”

“I, just, it’s so pretty,” she said, accepting the figure and shaking her head to feel how delicate the glass was. “It, it looks like them.”

Crowley blinked at that but changed the subject. “What are you in the mood for? Unless you’ve someplace you need to be?”

“Oh no, I have the whole day free,” Esk said distractedly, putting the phoenix back into the egg, which she realized wasn’t plastic but made of shell of some sort, and wrapping it in the golden foil which she was starting to worry might be real gold. “This isn’t..? Is it?”

“Eh?” Crowley poked at the foil and shook their head. “You know, I wouldn’t put it past them, but no, not gold.”

Esk let out a relieved sigh. “You know, I’m really craving fish and chips but...”

“What, think they’re too posh for street food?” Crowley snorted and shook their head. “ _They invented it._ Rome, like two thousand years ago, and I’m treating them to a snack and they tell the proprietor, ‘Dibblonius,’ they said, ‘these are just _scrummy_ , have you considered putting up a stall out by the street? That way people can buy them on their way to and fro?’ And he did and it had spread all over the place by the… uh, by the time we saw each other again.”

Esk gave them a concerned look when they stammered and cleared their throat. “Bad memory?” she murmured apologetically.

Crowley sniffed and shook their head, quickly wiped at their eyes. “Nah, not really, just, since we, uh, came back, I’ve been remembering things at the oddest moments, sometimes just silly little things… Like Aziraphale convincing Dibblonius that selling honeyed figs by the side of the road was a good way to beat the competition and was not, at all, motivated by Aziraphale wanting faster access to honeyed figs. And that Dibblonius not doing so would be like feeding himself to the lions,” Crowley laughed, but it faded and they pulled out the bronze compass, unconsciously running their thumb over the gryphon. “But sometimes…” They cleared their throat again. “The next time I was in Rome, Aziraphale found me and treated me to lunch. I’d been a demon for almost an earth decade and we hadn’t seen each other for just as long.”

“Oh.” Esk hesitated, watching them stare down at the compass that clearly belonged to Aziraphale and nervously blurted, “Would you like a hug?”

Crowley looked up at her and gave her a smirk that wobbled just the slightest and held out their left arm. “Yeah.” They let out a heavy sigh as Esk hugged them tightly. “As long as we’re clear this is just for your benefit. Cryptids don’t need hugs.”

“Right.” Esk snorted out a laugh and looped her right arm through Crowley’s left as they started walking again. “Is that what you’re calling yourselves now? Cryptids?”

Crowley shrugged, smiling faintly down at the compass and then at Esk. “Unless you’ve got a better suggestion? Not part of their sides anymore, what else is there?”

“Guardian spirits?”

“Pft, pretentious.”

“Uh, friendly spirits?”

“Not really my style. Aziraphale’s very friendly, though.”

“Yeah, you’re more of a trickster spirit,” Esk said, startling a laugh from them.

“I like that. Not terribly intimidating though.”

“Ah, well, there’s always eldritch horrors.” She laughed with delight when Crowley’s eyes lit up with glee. “I think that would probably upset Aziraphale however.”

“Oh, I sssee how it is,” Crowley hissed playfully as they arrived at the Bentley. “You know what, we’ll just ask them, how about that?” Crowley hissed out the words to activate the compass and flicking the cover open with practiced ease.

Just as Aziraphale answered, Karen snatched the compass from their hand, demanding, “Where’d you get that!” and backing away, staring down at it in shocked recognition.

Esk took one look at Crowley’s expression and a worried, “Oh shit,” escaped her before she clamped her arm tightly around theirs. “ _Murder is bad_ ,” she murmured in a low singsong voice, relaxing only slightly when some of the tension went out of Crowley’s posture.

“ _Mayhem is better_ ,” Crowley murmured back, making themself adopt a relaxed pose, watching Karen as she turned the compass over in her hands. “That was very rude of you, Mrs. Grimm. You should know better than to take things that don’t belong to you.”

“Where did you get this?” Karen demanded, looking back up to glare at them and taking an unconscious step backwards when she saw Crowley’s expression. “You stole it from Dr. Fell!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley sneered and impulsively added, “Angel gave it to me as a courting gift ages ago.” Ignoring Esk’s slow head turn and extreme side-eye, Crowley smiled at Karen’s shocked expression and added, “In honor of us coming to an _arrangement_.”

“Tha-that’s a lie!” _Angel!_ Karen glared at the Ashtoreth woman, knowing she had to be calling Dr. Fell by a pet name just to be annoying. “This is his personal mark, from his ring. Why would he give something this personal to _you_?”

“Don’t you know, Mrs. Grimm? That’s what courting gifts are, personal items you give to your sweetheart. And it’s not like the ring at all. This one has wings, that one didn’t,” Crowley corrected, giving her a long taunting look. “You must’ve seen the black one Angel carries, tucked away in its own little pocket. It’s black because it’s mine.”

Karen scowled, not wanting to acknowledge that she had seen the black compass nor the tender way Dr. Fell treated it, and changed the subject, “You’ve enchanted this, I can feel it.”

“Nope.” Crowley gave a negligent shrug. “Not me. Not really one for ritual magic.”

“Then your suck-up cousin did it for you,” she snarled at Esk, hating the smug little smirk the younger woman was barely making an effort to hide. “You should be ashamed of yourself. How do you think your University will react, knowing what you did? I’ll have your job for this,” she threated Esk. “Taking advantage of Dr. Fell’s trust, just because your _favorite_ _cousin_ is a ugly lying old bitch.”

“Really, Mrs. Grimm, this is absurd. Resorting to name calling?” Esk said, clucking her tongue. “And I think we all know that if my cousin were lying, you wouldn’t be nearly so upset.”

“’Ugly lying old bitch’? Is that the best you’ve got? I’ve heard better insults from children,” said Crowley with a roll of their eyes. “But really Mrs. Grimm, you need to get this through your skull; I didn’t, _wouldn’t_ , do anything to-”

“You did do something,” Karen interrupted, glowering at Crowley. “Everyone’s noticed the difference. Used to be he was collecting dust in the shop by nine o’clock every night, like clockwork! But now he’s hardly ever there, and when he is, you’re slinking about, lurking, like, like a damn snake in the grass!”

Crowley hated that phrase with every fiber of their being. What the hell else were snakes supposed to do? Tapdance? “That’s got nothing to do with _magic-_ ” they snapped.

“You’re the reason why he’s ignored all my efforts. You two figured out a way to charm him in spite of his resistance to magic. How the hell did you manage it?” she demanded. “Don’t bother denying it. I saw him, after you left this morning, saw him just sitting there spellbound, mooning and sighing, staring into space with a stupid little smile on his face.”

Crowley almost laughed, to hear her ascribing what sounded like one of Aziraphale’s typical lost-in-thought moments to being _spellbound,_ and a sly expression stole across their face and settled there. If she was going to give them that easy of an opening, how could they resist? “You’re right, Mrs. Grimm, last night _was_ special.”

“I knew it! What did you do to him?”

“Well, like you said, Angel and I have been spending a lot of time together; long drives in the country, holding hands in the park, staying up all hours of the night… But last night Angel ended our evening with a kiss to leave all other kisses behind. And what we did afterward, well, that was Angel’s idea too.” Crowley let their smirk grow into a satisfied smile as Karen’s face went red. “Incredible stamina, for someone their age.”

Esk’s eyes went wide when she realized that Crowley was far too smug and relaxed to not be telling the truth and Karen let out a steam-whistle shriek of rage when she realized it too.

“That’s what you did!” Karen gasped, waving the compass in front of their faces. “You, you used this to make him fall in love with you! Oh, it all makes so much sense now!”

“Wot?” Crowley’s flash of shock at the accusation had Karen sure that she’d discovered the truth. “Don’t be ssstupid, they’re not-”

“Well, I know one way to break the spell!” Karen threw back her arm, ready to smash the compass against the pavement only to find Crowley standing inches away from her, their eyes visibly glowing with fury as they took the compass from her hand. She stumbled back a few steps in shock but immediately dismissed what she was seeing as a trick. “I don’t know what you are, but I’m going to find out and I’m going to break you and whatever magic you’ve used on him,” she snarled, putting a brave face on it as she continued backing away.

“I’d like to see you try,” Crowley snarled back, baring impossibly pointy teeth. “Now back off before you make me really mad.” Karen scurried away but Crowley didn’t move until she vanished around the corner, nodding for Esk to get into the Bentley before getting in themself and slouching back against their seat, unsure what to say. “Uh, so-”

“I should’ve taken notes; ‘How to make a parasitic jerk lose her temper and run away in five easy steps,’” Esk teased, getting a chuckle from Crowley.

“Going to check in so Aziraphale doesn’t worry.” They rubbed a hand under their sunglasses and let out a slow breath before activating the compass again, smiling a little when Aziraphale immediately answered. “Sorry about that angel, had a little run in with your admirer.”

“Ah, uh, yes, I thought I heard her voice.” Aziraphale said, clearly flustered. “I’m sorry. She didn’t bother you too much I hope?”

Crowley shook their head, wanting to reassure them. “Not your fault, angel. It was nothing. You’ve got books arriving today, yeah?”

“Oh, I do, yes. Rose is getting my things out of the van as we speak.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile at the soft look Aziraphale gave them for remembering. “Well, Esk wants fish and chips, thought we’d get some and bring it back? And, er, enough for Rose too, if she’d like some?”

“That’d be lovely, Crowley, thank you. Mind how you go.”

“See you soon, angel.” Crowley closed the compass and slipped it back into its pocket, knowing full well Esk was staring at them as they started the Bentley and started driving.

“ _So_ …” There had never been a word so heavily encumbered with meaning before and she grinned when Crowley blushed in answer. “I won’t say anything.”

Crowley made a face, a mix of amusement and annoyance. “You won’t need to! I _have_ met Nanny Ogg, and I’ve no doubt that she can tell just by looking how best to embarrass people.”

“Which is why you like her,” Esk laughed, getting a smirking shrug of agreement. “Seemed to me like you were being truthful, but maybe not totally honest?”

Another shrug. “The compasses were Aziraphale’s idea. They enchanted them both, to let us talk without being spied on, after we arranged to thwart the great plan for the anti-christ together.” They let out a sigh when they got caught in traffic and darted a look at Esk, whose expression said she knew exactly what they weren’t saying. “Honest about, er, spending lots of time together.”

Esk bit her lips and looked out her window, refusing to say anything though the words were right there, desperately trying to escape. “Hmm.”

Crowley let out a world-weary sigh, squeezed their eyes shut and blurted, “We kissed and then they wanted to jump on the bed so we jumped on the bed and had a pillow fight and it was the best blessed night I’ve ever had. Ever.” They cracked open an eye and swore. “Don’t say it!”

“That’s so cute!” she said, grinning wickedly when they groaned.

**∞**

_Earlier..._

Aziraphale was getting a little annoyed. They’d had no opportunity to work on the books because customers kept coming in wanting to buy things. And there was clearly a stream of curiosity seekers who’d finally gotten the time/money/inclination to come stare at Aziraphale and leave in a huff when nothing interesting happened.

When it happened for the third time, Aziraphale set the sign to closed and shooed the last of the curiosity seekers out, dropping down into their chair with a huff of their own. “They’re right about mortals,” they mumbled grumpily to themself, getting up to make themself a fresh pot of tea. “Dreadfully frustrating. Why do we bother?”

There was a knock that had Aziraphale tensing but when the door opened and a familiar voice called out, they relaxed. _Ah, yes, here’s why we bother._ “In back Rose!” They smiled when she peeked her head around the corner. “Van all fixed?”

“No, they’re towing it,” she complained, resuming her chair with a sigh. “I asked for them to stop out front before they bring it in, I can at least get your stuff delivered. There’s a new weekly paper that I haven’t seen before, ‘Interesting Times’ run by someone named de Worde? Looks like it, er, it’s a little like the New Aquarian?”

“Oh goodness,” said Aziraphale with an amused shake of their head. “Another one of those is it? Well, I imagine it will sell. Oh-” They jumped a little to feel the compass hum, telling Rose, “This is Crowley, I’ll explain in a minute.” They quickly traced their thumb over the winged serpent, smiling when the vision of Crowley, clearly amused by something, appeared in their mind’s eye but then Karen’s voice came through and the vision was disrupted. Aziraphale frowned down worriedly at the compass, and the vision returned, but at a distance, showing Crowley and Esk and the Bentley, with Karen standing a few steps away, holding the compass.

“Was that Karen?” Rose asked, coming around to look over Aziraphale’s shoulder, staring in fascination at the compass and the tiny scene playing out in the mirror. “Is that a flip phone?”

“No, it’s a compass I enchanted-” Aziraphale broke off as Crowley’s voice came through.

“ _That was very rude of you, Mrs. Grimm. You should know better than to take things that don’t belong to you.”_

“Oh, wow, they’re _pissed_ ,” said Rose, getting a worried nod of agreement from Aziraphale.

They both made disgusted noises when Karen accused Crowley of stealing the compass and when Crowley replied, _“Don’t be ridiculous, Angel gave it to me as a courting gift ages ago.”_ Aziraphale sucked in a shocked breath and when Crowley smugly added, _“In honor of us coming to an **arrangement,"**_ they blushed crimson at the wide-eyed look Rose gave them.

“I, it’s, that’s not-” Aziraphale was stuck between amusement and dread, between wanting to hear Crowley take Karen to pieces and not wanting to know how they were going to go about it. Hearing Crowley call the compass a courting gift had already sent their heart stumbling, because while it technically wasn’t, in Aziraphale’s heart it so very much was.

“They’re just saying stuff to make Karen upset,” Rose soothed, grinning to hear Karen taking the bait. “And it’s clearly working.”

They both rolled their eyes at the threats and pathetic insults, and Aziraphale blushed again when Rose grinned at mention of the kiss but when Crowley said, _“Incredible stamina, for someone their age,”_ a laugh escaped from Rose before she could smother it, and Aziraphale said, “Oh saints and demons preserve _me,_ ” with a shocked laugh, covering their hotly blushing face with a hand, but they still didn’t close the compass.

Karen’s accusation had Aziraphale gasping in shock and then again with anger when she threatened Crowley. “The sheer nerve of the woman!” After Karen left Aziraphale closed the compass and shared a wide-eyed look with Rose but the towed van pulled up outside the shop before either could say anything and Rose went out to deal with the delivery.

Aziraphale quickly answered when the compass hummed, hoping they weren’t blushing too obviously when Crowley came into view, seated inside the Bentley with Esk.

“Sorry about that, angel, had another little run in with your admirer.”

“Ah, uh, yes, I thought I heard her voice.” Aziraphale said, still flustered, torn between pretending they hadn’t heard anything and admitting that they’d heard _everything_. “I’m sorry. She didn’t bother you too much I hope?”

“Not your fault, angel. It was nothing. You’ve got books arriving today, yeah?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile sweetly at Crowley for remembering. “Oh, I do, yes. Rose is getting my things out of the van as we speak.”

“Well, Esk wants fish and chips, thought we’d get some and bring it back? And, er, enough for Rose too, if she’d like some?”

Rose came back in just in time to hear and was nodding her head in agreement. Aziraphale told them, “That’d be lovely, Crowley, thank you. Mind how you go.”

“See you soon, angel.”

Rose set down the boxes and silently had Aziraphale sign for them before waving the tow-driver off and closing the door again, turning to watch Aziraphale twisting their hands together. “We don’t have to discuss it,” she soothed. “But I just want to say that Karen’s shriek of rage was _delightful_ ,” she laughed.

Aziraphale chuckled and reluctantly agreed, “It was, wasn’t it?”

“So you made the, what was it, compass?” Rose asked, assuming that was a safe topic and kicking herself when Aziraphale’s smile faltered. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me-”

“No, it’s alright, it’s just a little complicated.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh at how much of an understatement that was, showing her the compass. “Crowley and I have been friends for a very long time but, we were on opposing sides of a conflict. And both sides decided it was time to see which one was the stronger. Crowley convinced me to help sabotage their plans and I enchanted these to allow us communicate without being spied on.”

Rose leaned back in her chair with a sigh of understanding at the bittersweet expression on their face as she returned it to them. “Ah. But they were kinda sorta also a courting gift?”

“Yes, that’s a good way of putting it. We weren’t even supposed to talk to one another, and here we were, plotting to betray both of our sides with one another and part of me just knew that even if we succeeded we probably wouldn’t escape unscathed so...” Aziraphale rubbed their thumb over the winged serpent and sighed. “So why not make an overture even if they would never know the truth? Such a slim sliver of happiness, to see them carrying an item of mine, to have something of theirs.”

“But you got away-” Rose swallowed her words when Aziraphale let out a sigh and slowly shook their head. “But-”

“They’ve tried to hurt us, repeatedly, in the past two weeks,” Aziraphale admitted. “We tricked them and escaped but they’re not going to stop trying.”

“Who’s doing this? You know the herd will stand up for you!” Rose protested when Aziraphale gave her a fond smile but shook their head. “I’m serious, who?”

“My dear, I will not put you or anyone in harm’s way if I can prevent it. They are very powerful, physically and magically and the less you know about them, the better.” Aziraphale gave her a firm look when it was clear she meant to continue. “It’s too dangerous.”

Rose let out a frustrated sigh, swallowing back the words she almost blurted, knowing they would probably need convincing. “You said you did magic, on the compass, right?” Aziraphale nodded. “And your ex-sides, they have magic? Can they tell when people have magic?” she asked, an odd expression on her face.

“Er, well, yes, sometimes. Why?”

Rose shrugged, struggling with herself, with the secret she’d kept from almost everyone in her life. “Arcane magic means like casting spells, yeah?” She let out a breath when Aziraphale nodded and asked, “So… What kind of magic do werewolves have?”

Aziraphale blinked and cautiously explained, “Well, that depends on what you mean by werewolf. There are spells that can, for good or ill, transform someone’s body into another shape. Curses, blessings and enchanted items fall under that category. Or there are those who inherit an ability to transform that is tied to the moon or the tide or other natural phenomena.”

“Yeah, the second one.” Rose fidgeted nervously and murmured, “You know I’m adopted?”

“Well, yes, I mean, you were ah... thirteen, when you came to live here,” they said, beginning to suspect where this conversation was going. “That isn’t a secret, is it?”

“Why is.” Rose rubbed at her forehead and finally admitted, “Rose isn’t my first name. Isn’t my name at all.” She let out a laugh, knowing she would sound insane to anyone else but here they were sitting in a bookshop that had burned down then didn't, after overhearing a conversation through an enchanted mirror. What she had to say really wasn’t all that outlandish. “I’m Elsa Rosalba von Überwald, and I come from a long line of werewolves. But I’m broken, can’t change, and if I’d stayed with my family I’d have probably been, er, dead.”

Aziraphale frowned, concerned by the worry they could read on Rose’s face and reached over to pat her hand reassuringly. “Thank you, for entrusting your secret to me.”

“You… you believe me? That werewolves exist?”

“I’ve met born werewolves before,” Aziraphale admitted. “And selkies, and a kitsune once, and have helped those cursed into bestial forms. And I can tell when people are lying. But more importantly, I know _you_ , Rose. Of course I believe you.”

She let out a slow breath and chuckled a little. “No wonder you made a face when I talked about the Sweeper being a cryptid. You’ve probably met more myths than I’ve ever heard of.”

“That is probably true,” Aziraphale agreed. “Does Mila know?”

“She does,” Rose nodded, smiling faintly. “And magic’s really real? Not just stage magic?”

Aziraphale gave her a sheepish smile. “Not just stage magic. I, well, I find it fun and it’s good cover... and Crowley gets all hissy when I do it.”

“Ah, which is part of why you do it?” she laughed.

“A small part,” they agreed, their humor fading as they looked into Rose’s eyes, so young and full of life, not wanting to ask it of her, but knowing it wasn’t fair, to treat her like an actual child when she was long grown by mortal standards. “Are you serious about helping?”

Rose leaned forward eagerly. “Yes! I, er, I can’t change but I’m very strong, I heal pretty fast from anything but pure silver and supposedly we have a resistance to most magic.”

“Have... have you heard of a pub called Biers?” Aziraphale chuckled when her expression shifted into surprise. “Ah, you have. That’s one of Crowley’s favorites. We’re going to be gathering our allies together there on Sunday, mostly so they can meet one another. I only ask that you use discretion in who you invite. Being openly on our side is dangerous. They won’t hesitate to hurt you, maybe even kill you, if they think they can get away with it.”

“My own family wants to kill me,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “We’ve been to Biers a couple of times, usually when my, er, friend invites us to go. Kinda intense atmosphere. Wait… There was talk about something happening on Tuesday night-” Rose dragged her hands over her face and then stared at them in sudden understanding. “Angel isn’t just an endearment, is it?”

Aziraphale gave her an apologetic smile and shook their head. “No. At least, it wasn’t. Not really an angel anymore. Been fired, as it were.”

“Then Crowley… ohh, no, really?”

Aziraphale nodded and looked away from the sympathy in her eyes, looking down at Crowley’s ring. “But we’re not bound to those sides anymore. We’ve made our own side.”

She followed their glance and gave them a speculative look. “Is that a new ring?”

Aziraphale smiled but shook their head. “No, hardly new, it’s half again your age.” They relented when Rose’s hopeful expression fell. “ It’s a genuine authentic mood ring. Crowley generously loaned it to me, so I would have something to worry on.”

“That’s so sweet,” she said, leaning closer when they held out their hand, grinning when she saw the band of purple around the edge. “You know what purple supposed to mean, right?”

“You know, we’ve been puzzling over that? At first I thought it was just a quirk of the design since it was always there, around the edges, but now it’s far more obvious and-”

“It’s love.”

Aziraphale blinked and rolled their eyes at themself. “Oh, well, of course, silly of me to have missed that. That explains why it was so purple when we kissed.”

“You really kissed them?” she squeaked, making Aziraphale laugh and blush.

“I did. It was… wonderful.”

“That’s great!” Rose grinned, “See, I said your luck was turning around. Do they know?”

“Oh, I imagine so,” said Aziraphale offhandedly, blinking when she gasped, “What?”

“You told them you’re in love with them?”

“What? No! No, I mean they must know I love them, they’re my friend, my best friend,” Aziraphale said. “I love all my friends.”

Rose made a face and waved that away, “Well, right, but there’s loving people and being _in love_ with people. Did I misread things? You are in love with them, right?”

“Ah. No, you didn’t misread anything.” Aziraphale looked down at the ring, aswirl with colors and encircled with the ever present purple at the edge, and let out a sigh. “But I won’t be telling them that. That’s my problem, not theirs.” They looked back up and sighed at her unhappy frown. “What?”

“But… the, the kiss and everything, I mean, I know it’s not my business and I don’t want to pry, it’s just, why wouldn’t you tell them?”

They gave her a puzzled frown. “For what purpose? It would only serve to make things uncomfortable for them.” Aziraphale stroked a finger over the ring. “That they’ve allowed me, wanted me, back in their life after everything is more than I deserve. And now we can enjoy a closeness we were never able to have before. As terrible as some of this has been, every moment I get to have with Crowley is a blessing.”

“But they’re so obviously in love with you. Everyone can see it.” Rose let out a groan when Aziraphale shook their head in denial. “Even Karen can sense it, that’s why she’s so jealous!”

“Karen isn’t exactly a shining example of anything, let alone understanding complex emotions,” Aziraphale chided, getting up to pour the tea. “I know Crowley cares for me, loves me even. They must, to have put up with me for so long. I’m content with that.”

Rose smacked her fist against her thigh in frustration. “You’re so afraid of them saying no that you won’t give them a chance to say yes.”

Aziraphale stared down at the tea pot, reeling a little at the truth of that. “That is likely true,” they admitted lowly. “But I’m not sure I could survive them rejecting me again.” They shook their head to forestall Rose from asking questions. “Leave it be, Rose. Please.”

Rose gripped her hair and tugged a little. “You’re being obtuse about this!”

“Ah, no, you see I was an an _gel_ , not an an _gle_. Common mistake.”

Rose spluttered out a laugh and demanded, “Did you, did you really just _dad-joke_ me?”

“Well, mother-henning you hasn’t worked,” Aziraphale said with a faint smile. “What other option did I have, my dear?”

Rose let out a helpless laugh and lightly banged her head against the table a couple of times before letting it rest there as she let out a sigh. “I’m not going to let this go.”

“I know, dear. Dreadfully stubborn, mortals, when you set your minds to something.” Aziraphale smiled at the sharp look she speared them with. “But as I have six thousand years experience on you, you have an uphill battle ahead of you.”

“S-six th- really?” she stuttered.

“Well, not exactly, time doesn’t run the same way in the celestial plane as it does here, but at least six thousand years have passed since Crowley and I were first sent to earth from heaven.” Aziraphale smiled a little at Rose’s clear interest and offered, “I could tell you a little about what it was like?” When Rose nodded Aziraphale settled in and started telling her a lighthearted story about one of their visits to earth after the Garden.


	38. Deja Vu All Over Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are afoot and panic has Aziraphale reliving the mistakes of the past until Crowley interferes and together they thwart the wiles of Gabriel, Michael and Sandalphon.

Aziraphale had just finished the story, much to Rose’s amusement when they heard the familiar roar of the Bentley and Aziraphale went to the door to let Crowley and Esk in, locking the door behind them. “Dr. Eskarina Smith, let me introduce my good friend Ms. Rose Anthony. Esk is a, er, is there a title you prefer?”

“I’ve been using magician, to piss off the wizards,” Esk said with a grin as she and Crowley set the food and the inner egg down on the table. “Mage has a nice ring to it though. Gender neutral, not really attached to any tradition that I know of.”

“You do magic?” asked Rose, automatically accepting the food Aziraphale passed her, staring at Esk in amazement. “Like-” She nodded towards Aziraphale and Crowley.

Esk nodded, eating some of her chips and closing her eyes with pleasure. “Yup. Nothing as big and showy as these two can do, but I can hold my own.” She took another bite and admitted, “Which why I’m really starting to worry about this Karen woman. I can’t see her magic, with the spell you set, or with my own abilities. Yet, she could tell there was magic on the compass.”

“She thought I’d enchanted it,” Crowley added. “And when I said no, she accused Esk.”

“So, whatever power she has, she isn’t sensitive enough to tell spellcasters apart,” Esk added. “Or she was never taught how to tell us apart. And I’m pretty sure she was trying to do some sort of magic on me at the University. Maybe she’s self taught?”

“Some cultures are very secretive about magic,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “So people have to get what learning they can from whatever sources they can.”

“Well she mentioned the curse, but I wasn’t cursed when I met her,” Crowley pointed out, waving for Aziraphale to stay seated when the water boiled, having already devoured their food. “So, seeing the past? Divination of some sort?” Crowley grinned at that. “I bet that was an interesting reading. The Tower, The Devil, _Death_. How do you decide what to take at face value and what’s a metaphor?”

“The Magician. The Star. The Fool,” Aziraphale teased, smiling at Crowley’s playful sneer. “I haven’t sensed any arcane magic around her in the months since we met,” said Aziraphale with a shake of their head. “I am beginning to suspect her powers might be something of a more metaphysical nature. Something, er, _creepy_ , of that much I am certain.”

“Vampire?” Rose suggested, pausing with her food halfway to her mouth when they all turned to stare at her. “I know they’re real, I’ve met some. There’s a few who go to Biers on the regular. Most of them wear-”

“Black ribbons,” finished Crowley thoughtfully. “I’d wondered about that.”

“Oh, now that you mention it, she does leave people feeling drained after contact.” Aziraphale considered as they took another bite of their food. “Clearly not the kind that craves blood, they find our sort repulsive,” they said, nodding to include Crowley in their statement.

“Yeah, well, if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll leave you alone,” Crowley growled, pouring more tea for everyone. “Expect she got the message after our little chat today.” Aziraphale blushed crimson and Rose quickly jammed some chips into her mouth, endeavoring to look innocent and failing miserably. “Uh-”

“We heard.” Aziraphale pointedly did not look at Esk when she almost spat out her sip of tea, instead keeping their eyes on Crowley. “Er, everything.”

“You, you did? Er, oh, well, uh, I just want to point out that I didn’t, there were no lies in what I told her,” Crowley said, knowing they were blushing just as hotly as their angel was.

“No, that’s true,” Aziraphale agreed, still blushing but with the first hint of a smile tugging at their lips. “You certainly didn’t tell her any lies.”

Crowley relaxed to see the amusement in Aziraphale’s expression. “Not that she believed the important bits of what I was saying. And she all but admitted to trying to use magic to manipulate you-”

“I noticed that myself. You showed incredible self restraint, all things considered,” Aziraphale agreed, a little more of their smile showing.

“Right? I thought so.” They resumed their seat, their eyes flaring with anger. “She was going to sssmash your compass, to ‘break the spell’ or some nonsense.”

“Wouldn’t have worked,” murmured Aziraphale, smiling at Crowley’s frown. “After Warlock’s classmates scratched yours, I added another spell to the matrix, to keep them from being damaged. I really should have thought of that to begin with but it was easy enough to remedy. So take comfort in knowing it’ll take a lot more force than throwing it against the ground to break it beyond repair.”

“Oh, well, good.” said Crowley, leaning back in their chair. “Next time I’ll let her toss it and clock herself in the face with it,” Crowley mumbled under their breath to Rose, smirking when Esk smothered a laugh.

“Rose, Esk,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a slightly chiding look, which they ignored, “since you’re here, maybe you can help me with a little conundrum I’m having?”

The two women exchanged a look and nodded, and Rose added, “Uh, we’ll try?”

Aziraphale kept looking at Crowley, who started to fidget under their stare. “You know, for all my years, I had never jumped on a bed before,” they said conversationally, their smile going a little sharp when Crowley made a face and sighed with rueful amusement. “Or had a pillow fight. So I’m not really familiar with the rules, you understand, of pillow fights.”

Rose gave Esk a confused look, but her grin had Rose smiling and nodding with sudden understanding. “I’m pretty familiar with pillow fights,” Esk said. “Lots of brothers.”

“Excellent. How exactly does one get deemed ‘the winner’ as it were? There seemed to be an awful lot of arbitrary rules last night,” said Aziraphale, still staring at Crowley, who slouched down in their chair and tried to hide their smile behind taking a sip of tea.

Esk and Rose shared another look. “Well,” said Rose, fighting a grin, “usually it’s whoever’s left standing. Especially if you’re jumping on the bed too.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said blandly, darting a look at Rose and Esk who were clearly trying not to grin, knowing exactly what was coming, and back at Crowley, who was blushing and staring up at the ceiling. “That would make me the winner of our little bout last night, wouldn’t you say?”

“I set myself up for this.” Crowley let out a helpless laugh and sighed in resignation. “Alright, yes, you win. You’re never going to let me forget it, are you?”

“Oh, I might tire of it eventually,” Aziraphale said, taking a satisfied sip of their tea. “But then again, I might not. Since I have such incredible stamina for my age. However,” they said over the laughter, “I believe this calls for the relinquishing of a certain spoil of war?”

“Sorry, angel, the egg’s been consumed,” Crowley said, tapping the inner egg still resting on the table. “Had to keep Esk’s energy up. You know how tiring learning new magic can be.”

“Oh, well, as long as it went to a good cause.” Aziraphale smiled at Esk and slid a look at Crowley. “What was it? Cockatrice?”

“Interestingly enough, a phoenix,” Crowley said, waving for Esk to show them the prize. “I said she could keep it, after working so hard today, that alright?”

“It’s so pretty,” Esk said, carefully freeing the gilded glass bird with a multi-hued tail erupting upward from a nest of fiery red embers. “It makes me think of you.”

Aziraphale was flustered by the compliment, and by the figure’s surprising similarity to the image on the Chan’s seal, and their own newly adorned wings. “Oh, well, thank you. Do keep it, if you like.”

“Wait, you made this?” Rose asked, carefully accepting it when Esk offered it to her. “Aziraphale, it’s gorgeous!”

“Thank you, but it was a miracle, not something hand made-”

“Which still comes from you,” Crowley interrupted. “Even if the magic was from upstairs, which I don’t think it ever was, it’s still channeled through you and your imagination.”

Aziraphale shook their head but didn’t protest. “So, what shall we have for dessert?”

“I’m fine with biscuits and tea since I should be heading home soon,” said Rose, handing it back to Esk, who was nodding in agreement. “So are there a lot like you? Mages?”

“Well, there’s a lot of people with a little magic. Oddly good luck, somehow knowing things they shouldn’t, and a few with a lot of magic, like me and my peers. I don’t know why it’s like that,” she said sliding a look at Aziraphale and Crowley, who both shrugged.

“Arcane magic comes from the soul, and every soul is different,” Crowley said.

“And any number of things can interfere with a person accessing their power,” Aziraphale added, openly miracling up a tin of biscuits and setting it on the table in front of Rose.

She grinned and opened it, taking a few of her favorites before passing the tin to Esk. “So you’re a cryptid too.”

Esk opened her mouth to deny it and closed it again, expression going thoughtful. “I, well, yes, I suppose we are. There aren’t many of us, and we do tend to keep our abilities hidden.”

“Speaking of,” said Crowley, smirking at Esk, who grinned. “Esk thinks we need to call ourselves something other than cryptid, and I thought we should get your opinion.”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, recognizing Crowley’s sly expression all too well. “Very well.”

“Well,” said Esk, “I thought guardian spirits was good-”

“Pretentious,” dismissed Crowley.

“Accurate,” said Aziraphale but sighed at Crowley’s sneer. “And slightly pretentious.”

“So then I suggested friendly spirits-”

“Which is also accurate,” broke in Aziraphale before Crowley could sneer. “But poor Crowley would probably discorporate in embarrassment if someone called them that.”

“Exactly,” agreed Crowley with a smirk, leaning back in their chair and crossing their arms. “And then everyone will feel guilty and it’ll be a right proper mess. Can’t risk it.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” smiled Aziraphale. “Purely for our benefit.”

Esk was grinning as she told them, “So, as a final suggestion, I came up with eldritch horrors.” She and Rose both laughed at the mostly feigned outrage on Aziraphale’s face.

“No! Absolutely not! We are not _horrors_ ,” the reformed angel protested, spearing Crowley with a playfully accusing look when the former demon grinned. “Granted, some of us are unholy terrors on occasion...”

“Someone’s got to be,” Crowley shrugged, still grinning.

“Horrible Guardians? Horrible spirits?” Rose suggested, laughing when Aziraphale pressed a hand to their heart in feigned offense. “Eldritch guardians?”

Aziraphale opened their mouth to protest but closed it again, making Crowley laugh. “That might suit,” they finally admitted, frowning at Crowley’s chuckles, but their eyes were crinkled with mirth. “Since ethereal doesn’t quite suit either of us anymore.”

Crowley sniffed at that. “Never suited me. Too twee and tinkly.”

“Ah yes, you have quite the image to maintain.” Aziraphale reached over and plucked a few white cat hairs from Crowley’s shoulder and let them drift to the floor. “Pity about that.”

“How the hell are there still cat hairs after I magicked them away?” Crowley demanded.

“Cats are naturally resistant to magic that tries to make them go away,” said Esk. “And I’m pretty sure You knows how to teleport.”

“Well, we know whose fault that is, don’t we,” said Crowley, looking pointedly at Aziraphale who shrugged sheepishly. “You just had to teach that cat we found in Egypt.”

“She was lonely, and expecting, and there were oodles of mice in the granary for her to hunt. I didn’t think she’d teach her children how to do it,” Aziraphale protested. “You see-” Aziraphale broke off suddenly, both they and Crowley stiffening as a sense of danger enveloped both of them and they went pale with fear. “Oh fuck,” said the reformed angel, shocking Rose.

“C’mon, we can ‘step out, Esk, grab on-” said Crowley, jumping up and taking Aziraphale’s and Rose’s hands, but Aziraphale didn’t move, just clinging to Crowley’s hand and staring up at them with wide fearful eyes. “Aziraphale-”

“They’re here for me,” said Aziraphale slowly with a terrible sense of deja vu and dread. “You have to get them to safety.”

Crowley was struck by the sense of reliving a nightmare and shook their head vehemently. “I’m not leaving you.” _Again_. The word wedged itself in their throat along with a growing sense of panic. “Angel-”

They all flinched as three loud knocks came on the front door and reverberated through the shop, shaking dust from the corners and sending a few papers fluttering off of the desk. “Take care,” Aziraphale said, releasing Crowley’s aura and hand and standing, their face set in resigned lines, walking towards the front door like someone going to their execution.

“Shit shit shit.” Crowley pulled on their power to hide, gesturing for them to keep their voices down and guided them into the deepest corner of the back room when Aziraphale opened the doors and the archangels stepped inside.

“We’re not leaving,” Rose snarled in a whisper, relaxing when Crowley and Esk both shook their heads in agreement. “Now what?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not leaving them again,” Crowley said, pressing a hand to their chest and the terrible ache that had settled around their heart. “Aziraphale’s trying to face three archangels alone.”

“But they’re not alone. We’re not letting them face this alone.” Esk smiled at Crowley and pulled out her phone, Rose having already done the same, and said, “Martyrs are the _worst_.”

“Right. Arseholes want to play, they’re going to play by our rules now.” Some of the dread gripping Crowley released, and they pulling out their phone and starting texting. Half listening to what was going on, and half aware of the texts they were sending and receiving and was just starting to get a plan together when they caught the sudden scent of mostly apples. “Fuck! Type faster!”

**∞**

Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath when Crowley, Esk and Rose vanished from their senses. It took all of their willpower to ignore the desperate urge to check on Crowley through the bond. They were viscerally afraid the archangels would be able to find them through that tie if they realized it existed. Mostly they were just viscerally afraid and they couldn’t shake the terrible sense of impending doom.

They closed their eyes and stood in the middle of the ward, letting out another slow shuddering breath as they grounded themself and initiated the failsafe they had hoped to never need, clasping their shaking hands together, hiding Crowley’s ring from view. They pulled themself to their full height and more and opened their eyes and the doors. “Ah, Gabriel, Michael, Sandalphon. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The trio of archangels were momentarily taken aback by Aziraphale’s self-assurance but quickly gathered themselves and strode inside, Michael and Sandalphon in the lead. Unnoticed behind them, the doors slowly and silently closed and locked themselves as the ward responded to the clear threat the trio represented.

Gabriel said, “I think you know why we’re here, Aziraphale.”

“No, can’t say that I do,” said Aziraphale, keeping their eyes on Gabriel but aware of the other two moving farther into the room to flank them. “I had presumed our business with one another had been concluded. Perhaps you’re looking for more pornography?”

Gabriel shook their head at the quizzical look Michael sent them and rubbed their hands together as they stepped closer to Aziraphale. “We’re here, for everything you owe to Heaven. And while we can’t take back the time you’ve wasted with your little games, there’s other ways to make you pay up, aren’t there?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Aziraphale, tensing when Michael and Sandalphon moved closer, but they didn’t do anything more and Gabriel summoned a folder full of paperwork and started flipping through it.

“Turns out you bought this quaint little property under the authority of the Host,” said Gabriel, giving Aziraphale a nasty little smile. “And we’ve come to collect.”

Aziraphale blinked at them in confusion. “Collect? Collect what?” they asked, Death’s warning echoing in the reformed angel’s mind. _You_ _assumed they’d play fair. But now_ _you_ _know better._ “You- you’re trying to repossess the building? But-”

“Oh, not just the building,” said Sandalphon, baring their teeth in a mockery of a smile.

Michael primly explained, “It’s been brought to our attention that there’s been outside contact with the entity that runs the Library, and that it happened since communications were blocked. We’ve pinpointed that it somehow originated from here. On this property.”

“Bad enough the elementals think they’ve a right to demand anything from us,” added Sandalphon. “But a chunk of earthly wood should know its proper place.” They glowered at Aziraphale. “As should angels.”

Aziraphale didn’t bother to respond to that, looking again at Gabriel who was clucking their tongue as they continued to make a show of flipping through the papers. “Something’s going on with the elementals and the Library?” they deflected, making themself stay still as Sandalphon and Michael moved closer yet.

“Nothing that won’t be handled in short order,” said Gabriel with a tight little smile.

“Where’s your friend in the sunglasses, Aziraphale?” asked Michael. “They run off again?”

“I don’t know where Crowley is,” Aziraphale answered truthfully.

“How about your other friend,” Gabriel squinted down at the paperwork. “Cara? Seems that’s the latest in a string of humans who’ve invested in this pitiful little hobby of yours.” They shook their head, giving Aziraphale a chiding look. “Really Aziraphale, becoming attached to _humans?_ Haven’t you learned your lesson about that by now? And really, wasn’t letting the demon tempt you bad enough?”

“Crowley is a better friend and angel than any of you could ever hope to be,” Aziraphale said, lifting their chin when all three archangels speared them with angry looks.

“Are you claiming that a _demon_ is your _friend_?” Sandalphon demanded.

“Yes, I am,” said Aziraphale, unable to keep the quaver from their voice, gripping their hands together tightly. The sense of doom seemed to be growing and Aziraphale could only think of one thing to do to keep Crowley safe. “My best, dearest friend.” _My everything._

“Then where are they?” Michael taunted, looking around the empty shop and making a face, looking towards Sandalphon and Gabriel, who were also wrinkling their noses. “What is that smell?”

“Something smells… like apples?” said Sandalphon in confusion.

Aziraphale looked down at their hands, their left still folded over the ring, which was red and purple with a growing core of white hot fury wreathed with gray fear and grief. Their right hand was carefully folded around one of the little wooden cups of scumble, where the slightest jostle would have the liquid coming in contact with the metal of the mood ring. _Be safe_ _Crowley_ _._

Michael gave them a pitying smile. “We know all about what really happened, Aziraphale.”

“Do you?” Aziraphale murmured quietly, hoping they would keep talking, giving more time for Crowley to get the humans and themself to safety. “I wonder.”

Gabriel put on the smarmiest of smiles. “Obviously it was gravity poisoning, from being earthbound. It made you vulnerable to being manipulated by the demon. We’ve gotten word on some of the things being unearthed about them. Utter fiend at manipulations and subterfuge. You shouldn’t feel too bad for being taken in, they fooled most of their own kind too.”

Aziraphale absently moved their fingers over the ring, taking comfort in the smooth stone and carved scales. They couldn’t help but find it bleakly amusing how quickly everyone just accepted that the poor foolish angel had been victim to the clever tempting demon. “I see.”

“We know you switched places with the demon,” cajoled Gabriel. “You don’t have to worry though, we’re not really mad at you anymore. All that was a bit of an overreaction really. But when Hell gets their hands on Crowley, they’re going to make them reveal how they found out about the execution, and that’s just the start of it.”

Their expressions shifted in surprise when Aziraphale couldn’t hide their worry. Michael said, “You actually do care about them. That would explain everything. Does the demon know?”

Aziraphale forced themself keep still as the archangels moved closer. They needed to stay within the circle if their plan was to have any hope of working. The ward would keep the blast contained to inside the shop; it would also hopefully serve to keep the archangels contained inside the shop long enough to send a clear message.

Gabriel shook their head in disbelief, a faint expression of disgust on their face that they couldn’t hide. “We’d wondered what they used, to make you risk being caught in Hell to take their bath for them. Threatened your books, we thought, or your pet human. But you _offered_ , didn’t you?”

“Disgusting,” Sandalphon sneered. “Could you be any more pathetic?”

“You know demons can’t be trusted, Aziraphale. It’s just how they’re made. They’ll pretend to be your friend, as long as it serves their purpose, and then when they don’t need you anymore…” Michael shrugged, their sad expression surprisingly sincere. “And humans; fickle and contrary and terribly messy, aren’t they? Dying all over the place all the time. No, you’ve got no real friends, Aziraphale, but it doesn’t have to stay that way-”

“But that’s exactly how you wanted it,” Aziraphale interrupted, some of their anger beginning to show. “I was shunned and mocked _by angels_. Made to feel lesser and unwelcome _in heaven_. And then I was earthbound, with no one and nothing.”

“Well-”

“Except Crowley.” The corner of Aziraphale’s lips quirked upward at the brief scowls that crossed their faces. “Who’d endured all I had and worse. Who-”

“Demons can’t be trusted!” All three of them said it at almost the same time, a warning and a mantra and a battle cry all in one.

“NEITHER CAN ANGELS,” Aziraphale roared back, shocking the archangels silent. “You reinforced that lesson quite well when you abducted us in broad daylight to _murder_ us. Twice.” They made a show of looking around before asking, “And how is Uriel doing?” There was a brief silence and then the shuffling of feet as all three archangels looked nervously around the bookshop and Michael and Sandalphon unconsciously moved back towards Gabriel.

“You turned your back on Heaven, and for what?” said Gabriel, dropping the packet of paperwork onto the table and holding out their hands to encompass the empty bookshop. “The demon doesn’t care about you, Aziraphale. Never has. Even you must know that, in that sad little soul of yours. You’ve always just been a cog in their little schemes. And now they’ve left you all alone, to face to consequences of _their_ actions.”

“Leave Crowley out of this,” Aziraphale growled, looking away from Gabriel’s vicious little smile, watching the archangel’s feet as they took a step closer to the edge of the circle.

“But we are merciful to those who repent. We’ll even make a little deal with you, for the demon’s life, in honor of your long years of service.” The smile grew when Aziraphale reluctantly looked back up. “You renew your oath to Heaven-” Gabriel held up a shiny golden ring engraved with a wingless gryphon, and it took all of Aziraphale’s willpower to not back away when they stepped onto the edge of the circle. “-and we’ll make sure the demon doesn’t get destroyed.”

Aziraphale’s hand tightened a little around the cup of scumble and hesitated. They knew it wouldn’t be that simple, knew Crowley wouldn’t want that, knew by the sense of doomed deja vu that none of their choices would end in anything but heartache, but if there was even a sliver of a possibility of keeping Crowley safe...

Gabriel’s smile widened into a triumphant grin when Aziraphale wilted. “We’ll even let you stay on earth, since you like it here so much, with a few minor concessions on your part. You’ll have to relinquish all your assets obviously, including the bookshop, but we can probably see clear to let you visit. Once a decade or so seems pretty generous, all things considered, hmm?”

“JUST-” Crowley hissed loudly right in Gabriel’s left ear, making the archangel’s simian-shaped brain screech, _Danger!_ and sent them jumping away before they even realized what was happening. “-playing devil’s advocate here, but that sounds like a terrible deal.” Gabriel bumped into Sandalphon, who had similarly flinched away from Rose, who had appeared by their elbow, growling in a way a human throat shouldn’t be able to.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped and quickly miracled the cup of scumble to their left hand, frowning to see Rose menacing Sandalphon with rage clear in her eyes and Esk coldly sizing up Michael and clearly finding the archangel lacking. And the archangels were staring at them in utter bewilderment, like wolves being attacked by a mouse, and losing.

“Operation Potato is a go,” Crowley said, snapping their fingers and vanishing the rug to reveal the glowing spell-circle, hoping the light show would keep the archangels’ attention long enough for Aziraphale to adjust to the change of plans.

Aziraphale was staring at them, clearly at a loss. ”Crowley, I-”

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have rushed the plan, but gah I couldn’t stand another minute of their rubbish.” They sauntered around to the desk and began going through the papers Gabriel had dropped. “Besides, your calculations were spot on; didn’t take more than a moment to get everything calibrated once they were in place.” They went still for a second when they read the current silent partner’s name, quickly filing it away for later when they weren’t all in imminent danger. “Flawless, as usual, Aziraphale. Well done.”

Gabriel had yelped to see the sudden coils of light appearing around their feet and tried moving away from Aziraphale, only to discover that the light followed them and was now looking between Crowley and Aziraphale in consternation. “You both knew-”

“Obviously,” Crowley said with feigned indifference, still looking through the papers. “That’s masterminds for you, eh? Always masterminding all over the place, manipulating and scheming, er, schemingly.” They smirked at Gabriel. “You lot are nothing if not predictable. Always playing your little _games,_ making up your own _rules_ ,” they said pointedly to Aziraphale.

“What is this?” Michael demanded of Aziraphale, pointing down at the swirling lights, not liking it or the human who had appeared at their elbow. The human hadn’t technically done anything beside smirk and stare, but it was becoming unnerving, as her smirk was slowly growing.

“Oh, ah.” Aziraphale had begun to smile faintly but blinked, and looked down at the pretty and powerless lights swirling across the floor and answered truthfully, “Nothing to concern yourself with. As long as things stay… civil, you may continue what you started.”

“Are you threatening us?” growled Sandalphon.

“Absolutely not,” said Aziraphale, waving at the doors. “You’re perfectly free to leave. Of course, if you do,” they piped up when the three archangels turned, “Heaven and Hell will be conceding to all of our demands, as well as those of the elementals and the Library.” Aziraphale’s smile was disconcertingly sharp when they all slowly turned back around. “As per the binding decree set forth by the Dark Council and the Council of Heaven on how all negotiations between opposing parties is to be conducted.”

“How do you know about that?” demanded Gabriel, sharing a quick worried look with Michael. “That’s classified, you shouldn’t have been able to access-”

“I was there, Gabriel, two thousand years ago. I was there when angel turned against angel. I was there the day the celestial firmament was sundered.” Aziraphale smiled faintly at the archangels’ disbelief and at the hastily hidden expressions of Crowley, Esk and Rose upon recognizing the cadence of their speech. “I observed it all from within the Library.”

“You couldn’t have been there,” Sandalphon protested.

“No? Let me see, as I recall you were all gathered in front of the doors to the Library, yes? Complaining quite bitterly because you’d been forced to wait a whole celestial week before the Dark Coulcil were able to parlay with you. And then you threatened to walk away because they had a list of demands but when you, Gabriel, got up from the table Andras said, ‘Then you lose all negotiating rights and submit to all our demands,’ and you sat back down and Raphael said, ‘Fine, but you can’t leave either,’ and Andras said, ‘Fine’. Am I forgetting anything?”

The archangels all stared at Aziraphale in shock and Michael quickly interjected, “You don’t get to speak for the elementals or the Library,” before Gabriel or Sandalphon could say anything. “You speak for yourself alone.”

“Oh, no,” said Crowley, stepping into the center of the circle with Aziraphale and resting their arm casually on their left shoulder. “Not alone. Never alone. And anyone who throws in with us, we speak for them too.”

“This is pointless,” dismissed Sandalphon. “Hell wants you dead, _demon,_ and if Aziraphale doesn’t give us what we want, we can’t step in on their behalf.”

“How generous. But ya know, considering how often you’ve tried, and failed, to be rid of us, we’re going to have to decline your offer.” Crowley smirked at the glaring archangels and gave Aziraphale’s tense shoulder a quick reassuring squeeze.

“Well,” said Gabriel, their confident smile back in place, “There’s still the matter of the bookshop to settle. It’s Heaven’s property-”

Aziraphale shook their head. “It is not! You denied my loan request! I was told I’d have to pay for everything myself, new rule the Dark Council had insisted on. That’s why I needed a silent partner in the first place. When I was, very briefly, going to be promoted back upstairs,” they darted a look at Crowley, who grinned at the recollection, “you had the papers already drawn up, purchasing everything from me for my replacement to use. But then the promotion fell through for some odd unexplained reason, and here we are.”

Crowley patted their shoulder and held up the paper they’d been counting on being there from the moment Gabriel had summoned Aziraphale’s file. “And here’s proof.” Crowley began reading the paper out loud. “Official Loan Request Form, [name redacted] formally requests a loan of blah blah blah, DENIED, see addendum, ner ner ner, ah… here’s the important bit: Any and all accommodations to be utilized by earthbound entities must be paid for and maintained by those individuals without aid or influence of the Hosts, as decreed by the Council of Heaven and the Dark Council.”

The bitter expressions on the archangels faces sent a tiny zing of triumph through Aziraphale but they knew it wasn’t over yet, the sense of doom was still lingering over them.

“We’ve also come for the sword,” Michael said, smiling in triumph when they shared a look. “The one you were issued in the Garden, Aziraphale. Where is it?”

“Presumably in the Vault of Heaven, as a matter of fact,” said Aziraphale. “Along with the other relics used to summon the Riders. I signed for its return to the courier myself.”

“But you don’t have to take our word for it, use the RAPTURE app on your iSlabs to check for yourselves. I’d do it myself, but I don’t have access anymore.” Crowley grinned as Michael reluctantly pulled out their iSlab and started tapping away on it, frowning down at the interface. “It’s the Position command.”

“Yes, yes, I can read- ah. Well, look at that, there it is,” said Michael disappointedly, shrugging when Gabriel scowled and looked over their shoulder at the display. “In the Vault, just like you said.”

“That doesn’t matter,” snapped Sandalphon, bearing their teeth in a smug grin. “You both violated the Treaty, by going uninvited into enemy territory. Your freedom is forfeit, unless you surrender to our mercy.”

Crowley’s stomach dropped at how Gabriel and Michael perked up at that. “Uh-”

“We didn’t,” Aziraphale said, pulling on their power in preparation of telling a kraken-sized lie. “Violate the Treaty. Didn’t go anywhere uninvited. You and Uriel were there,” they pointed out to Sandalphon. “Can’t really call an abduction being _uninvited_.”

“You miracled up a bath towel,” said Crowley to Michael. “When you came for the water.”

“We know that wasn’t you,” sneered Michael.

“Do you?” asked Crowley, hoping desperately that Aziraphale could come up with something, because they were tapped out. “How?”

“Demons can’t survive holy water and angels can’t survive hellfire, everyone know that! And there was the, the whole belching hellfire thing!” said Gabriel with a repulsed shudder. “There’s no other explanation-”

“Kissing,” piped up Aziraphale, wreathing their lying words in power, smiling anxiously when the archangels frowned in confusion. “I- I didn’t want to tell you, for obvious reasons, but it’s a side affect from physically kissing demons. Well, not that I was kissing multiple demons, of course, just one demon, multiple times-”

Sandalphon looked positively ill. “Are you saying you, urgh, and the demon..?”

“Oh yeah,” boasted Crowley after Aziraphale gave them a nudge, too busy marveling at the brilliance of their plan to notice their cue. “Lots of times. Lost count,” they said, trying Aziraphale’s trick and cursing inwardly when Michael’s eyes narrowed, clearly not convinced.

“Of course, the physical kissing only started in the last century. I think it was the blending of auras that actually granted us immunity,” Aziraphale added, drawing their attention away from Crowley. “It was my idea, the first time,” they said truthfully, but not at all honestly. “And then we just couldn’t stop.” They garnered appalled stares from the archangels by openly unfurling their outer aura towards Crowley, followed by gasps of shock when they reciprocated, their outer auras reentwining with an ease of long familiarity that couldn’t be feigned.

Crowley turned towards Aziraphale with a grin. “Think they need more proof?”

“It would seem that they do.” The archangels recoiled in horror at the brief chaste kiss they shared and Aziraphale magicked the scumble from the cup to their mouth, careful to not swallow any, or even breath the fumes. It was no more than a thought to ignite it as they turned towards the archangels and let it out. The resulting gout of hellfire sent the archangels scrambling backwards from the furious heat of it and Aziraphale dabbed delicately at their mouth with the black handkerchief. “Pardon me.”

“If, if kissing does that to angels, what does it do to demons?” Gabriel asked.

“Hard telling,” said Crowley, miracling away the soot and smoldering embers on the floor. “I could spit in your eye and find out.”

“Happened a lot more often in the beginning,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously, giving Crowley an elbow in the side when Gabriel scowled. “But stepping into the hellfire seems to have refreshed the affect,” they shrugged. “Had no idea that would happen of course.”

“How convoluted is that, thinking we somehow switched places with no one, at all, noticing the differences between us?” said Crowley with a look at Aziraphale. “Million in one chance, to pull that sort of caper off.”

“Ha ha, right? Utterly ridiculous,” agreed Aziraphale, watching sidelong as the archangels milled about in the entryway, clearly at a loss for what to do next. Nothing had gone as they’d expected or even hoped. “Well, glad that’s all settled, so-”

It was Sandalphon who recovered first, unwilling to concede that they’d been bested, and took a menacing step towards Rose. “The humans’ lives will be forfeit, for interfering-”

“NO.”

Golden-bronze scintillating light flooded the room and Sandalphon and the others recoiled, first in surprise, then in pain as Aziraphale stepped towards them, eyes glowing with pure righteous fury. “THESE ARE OUR PEOPLE, YOU HAVE NO SAY HERE.”

Crowley’s shadow loomed behind Aziraphale, their dark auroral corona melding with the glass-sharp golden-bronze light, searing the archangels’ senses in a way they hadn’t experienced in thousands of years. “THIS IS OUR PLACE, YOU HOLD NO SWAY HERE.”

The doors crashed open behind the archangels and together Aziraphale and Crowley roared, “LEAVE NOW AND NEVER COME BACK!”

The archangels gasped in shock as the wards and blessings all responded to Aziraphale and Crowley’s blatant revoking of welcome, lifting their smoking shoes and desperately hot-footing it outside, tripping over themselves and the step in their hurry to escape.

Halo vanishing before they stepped out after the archangels, Aziraphale pulled up short in surprise to see the small crowd gathered around the trio, who were quickly discovering that a believer’s righteous anger was indeed a shield and a weapon. Because miracles require belief to work, and if the mortal in question is too busy believing their fist is going to be meeting that very smug chin, there’s no room to be distracted by some twinkly chimes and a light show.

What the archangels didn’t know, that their demonic counterparts could have explained if they were ever so inclined, was that the worst thing for a celestial to encounter in corporeal form, isn’t someone who doesn’t believe, but someone who does believe, and is _pissed_. Because strong emotions are powerful, it’s right there in the name, allowing people to do the impossible on a daily basis. And like a magnifying glass, belief focuses that power into a small, white-hot smoldering pinpoint. All it needs is a target and something to fan the flames. Like a panicked text from a loved one with a lot of exclamation points and an address.

That hit-first-ask-questions-later instinct that has served mortals so well over the years is the main reason most possessions are done by Legions* instead of real demons. But since humans are generally glad to see Legionnaires* they don’t usually get the stuffing physically or metaphysically beaten out of them the way Legions do, leaving the archangels quite unaware of the very real danger they were in.

The archangels’ infrequent visits to earth and Crowley and Aziraphale’s wildly inaccurate and misleading manuals were no match for the reality of a mob ready to beat the living daylights out of a demon (or angel) with a fireplace poker (or their bare hands or teeth if needed) imbued with all the righteous fury their tiny brief lives and souls could create, which is actually quite a surprisingly large amount.

(*Legions are, for all intents and purposes, the equivalent of one of those automated systems companies use to weed out the weak and impatient before unleashing the distilled rage of someone who’s been forced to listen to hold music for six hours. This is why demons get an annual allotment of Legions they are allowed to destroy before their wages get garnished. Meanwhile Legionnaires, the heavenly version of Legions, are like slightly off-kilter targeted ads that pop up in spite of all the ad-blocks; big fluffy smiles and wings to dispense generic benevolence and simple miracles to True Believers™, like faces on toast and root vegetables and the occasional, ‘Sin? In _My_ Soul? It’s more likely than you think! Repent Now!’ warnings.)

“Friends,” Aziraphale called, their voice carrying in the ominous silence, and everyone found their eyes drawn to the fondly smiling reformed angel, and the grinning former demon lurking in the shadows behind their left shoulder. “Dear friends, they have right of free passage, this time. But they’ve worn out their welcome and know it, and if they know what’s best for them, they’ll not give harm to our friends, or show themselves here again. These are our demands, and _all_ their ilk will submit to them. Won’t you?”

Michael and Gabriel nodded in agreement, and though Sandalphon’s face was twisted in an angry scowl they nodded as well. The three of them hurried away down the passage that opened in the crowd and ascended to the safety of heaven once they were out of sight.

“Alright people, nothing to see here, you’re blocking traffic!” called a woman’s voice, and like that, most of the crowd dispersed in a reenactment of Monday’s scene, some of them giving nods and waves to Aziraphale and Crowley before walking away.

There was only one police officer lingering on the sidewalk, though she wasn’t currently in uniform, and her shoulder-length blond hair was freed from its typical severe braid. She was compact and confident and seemed coiled to spring into action at a moment’s notice. She took a deep slow breath before approaching the bookshop with caution. “Mx. A. Z. Fell? You might remember me, I was one of the police at Monday’s little scene?”

“Ah, sorry?” Aziraphale was trying to keep themself together as the adrenaline wore off and was quickly approaching their limit. “Sorry, I can’t say as I do, it’s been a very busy wee- couple of weeks, well month, year? Decade. Is there something you need?”

She stepped a little closer, murmuring, “Rose texted me, for this, and a ride home.”

“Ah. She’s inside,” said Aziraphale, stepping aside and waving for her to go in, they and Crowley following her inside. The reformed angel, having neither energy nor inclination to deal with it themself, was relieved to find Esk had dismissed the lights and Rose was replacing the rug over the spell-circle.

“Hey!” said Rose happily, she and the woman falling into a quick hard hug, kissing each other on both cheeks. “Thanks for bringing reinforcements on short notice-”

“Anytime.” She was looking around the bookshop in fascination, taking long deep breaths and shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was sensing. “Rose-”

“So let me introduce my good friend Aziraphale, and my more recent friends, Crowley, and Dr. Eskarina Smith, from the Unseen University,” said Rose. “This is Sergeant Angua, uh, what name-”

“Wolff.” She shrugged at the pained but amused look Rose gave her. “Easy to remember anyway.” She nodded to everyone and said, “Rose is my sister by blood.”

“They, er, they don’t know,” Rose murmured in their first language. “I didn’t-”

“Do you trust them?” Angua asked in kind, looking back at her sister, who nodded. In English she replied, “Then I trust them.” She turned back and gave them a small smile that didn’t show her teeth. “Werewolf.” She smiled a little more at Esk’s intrigued expression, and was intrigued herself by the other two’s blasé acceptance of her statement. “So what are you?”

“Oh, uh, I’m an adjunct professor and a mage, magic user,” said Esk.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who shrugged tiredly, their eyes crinkled with a touch of amusement as they turned to Rose and said, “I think we’ll leave it to you to explain.”

Rose nodded understandingly and accepted the hug and barely touched tin of biscuits Aziraphale offered her, waving to Crowley and Esk before leading her sister out of the shop, falling into step beside her as they made their way to where Angua’s motorcycle was parked. “What did you smell?” she asked, falling back into the language of their youth.

Angua shook her head at the scents still lingering in her memory, trying to put into words what she’d sensed, translating it into what Rose, who’d never experienced the world through her nose, would understand. “Sunshine on old books and moonlit autumn nights, and most recently fury, fear, and grief. And somehow no, er?” She waved to below her belly button. “Like, at all?”

Rose’s eyebrows went up at that and she admitted, “Oh, well, they were angels, but now they’re eldritch guardians. I’ll tell you what I know...”

Back in the shop Esk took her leave as well, after reassurances that they would be okay and that the archangels would abide by the agreement for a little while at least. She hugged them both tightly, gathered up the egg and left them alone in the shop.

The stood in silence for a long moment before Aziraphale hoarsely said, “Crowley?” letting out a shuddering breath and holding on for dear life when Crowley caught them in a crushing hug, both of them starting to shake as reality caught back up with them. “Oh Crowley.”

“Why?” Crowley demanded, leaning back to look Aziraphale in the eye. “You, you were-”

“I was too terrified to think of anything else,” Aziraphale admitted. “I, I was so sure they were, were going to do something terrible to me, to you. I couldn’t let it happen again, I couldn’t-” They closed their eyes and pulled Crowley into another hug. “I couldn’t lose you again.”

“You were going to-!” Crowley couldn’t even say it, it was too terrible to think about. “Never again, promise me!” they demanded, then begged, “Never again, please, Aziraphale, shit, I need to-” They stumbled together to the couch and collapsed together onto it when their legs wouldn’t support them anymore from trembling. “You scared the absolute fuck out of me, angel.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale murmured, face pressed against Crowley’s shoulder. “I suppose we’re even now, on the whole head-first into hellfire thing,” they said with a chuckle that broke into a sob when Crowley hugged them tightly again.

“Promise me,” Crowley repeated, voice breaking, heart breaking.

“I promise,” Aziraphale said truthfully, honestly. “I promise.” They let out a sigh as they pressed their face into the crook of Crowley’s neck and inhaled the comforting scent of them. “I promise. Never again.” They lifted their mouth to Crowley’s and sealed their oath with a kiss, and lifted a weight from both of them.

Aziraphale gasped when a tendril of Crowley’s inner aura tentatively brushed against theirs, both of them gasping as the reformed angel eagerly reciprocated and their inner auras briefly, delightfully mingled before they both eased away from the intense interaction. Hoarsely, nervously, Crowley asked, “Was that-”

“Better than I remembered,” Aziraphale soothed, caught between laughter and tears and relief. “Seems being sober actually improves some things. Who knew?”

Crowley laughed tiredly and pressed their forehead against Aziraphale’s, not at all comfortable on the couch but unwilling to let go just yet. “I think we did.”

“Why did you stay?” Aziraphale blurted, tears winning out. “They-”

“We weren’t going to leave you to face those arseholes alone,” Crowley answered. “I had the worst feeling, when you said that, when you let go, like I was reliving a nightmare-”

“Deja vu,” murmured Aziraphale. “Like it had all happened before and there was no escape.”

“Yeah.” Crowley let out a breath. “But, like you said, we’re stronger together, right?”

“Yes, but-”

“No,” scolded Crowley. “ _We_ got the better of them. Together. I knew if you had a minute to think without panicking you’d have a better idea than, than, _that_.”

“It would have sent a message,” said Aziraphale lowly. “I might have survived it.”

“No you wouldn’t have,” Crowley hissed. “And I was talking about giving yourself up.”

“Oh, well… I, I thought it would keep you safe, and if nothing else it would give you time to get away. It’s a big universe, like you said-”

Crowley spluttered and finally got out, “Yeah, well, we tried that, right? And it didn’t work out great the last time because they don’t play fair. No more martyred last stands and no more bargains. I can’t survive it again.” They regretted saying it but didn’t take the words back.

“Me neither,” said Aziraphale hoarsely. “Sorry for making you save me again-”

“Couldn’t let you get hurt again, trying to protect me,” Crowley murmured, lips pressed tenderly to Aziraphale’s temple. “Always watching out for me…” Tentatively, they whispered, “Caring, for me?”

“Oh yes, yes, I care very much,” Aziraphale hastened to assure them, hugging them tightly and feeling the shuddering breath they exhaled. “My best, dearest friend. I know I’m not always the best at showing it-”

“Yeah, well, better without martyring yourself every few thousand years.” Crowley grinned to have Aziraphale spluttering for once, a little relieved laughter escaping them and they impulsively blurted, “I, er, I care about you too, you know, don’t you?” When Aziraphale froze they added, “Best friends, right? Got to care about each other, in the rulesss.”

Aziraphale’s heart had somersaulted at their words, but their clarification had them feeling both happy and disappointed. “Oh, yes, right. Must do, to put up with me as much as you do,” they said lightly. “Do, do you think it’s safe for us to go home? Oh!”

Crowley fell off the couch. _Home. Us._ They just laid on the floor for a moment and pressed their eyes shut when Aziraphale looked over at them in concern. “I could always kiss you some more, if they’re waiting for us.” A laugh escaped. “I’ll just carry you in and announce, ‘I’ve got an angel and I’m not afraid to kiss them!’”

Aziraphale’s confused frown melted into a laughter. “No need to go to extremes, my dear. They’d probably run away in horror, just seeing us with our outer auras entwined.”

Crowley grinned and looked up at Aziraphale. “Maybe we’re eldritch horrors after all?”

“I’ll allow it, but only towards them.” Aziraphale carefully stood and helped Crowley up from the floor, both of them reluctant to let the other go. “Are you up for driving?”

“Yeah, think so.” Crowley let out a wide yawn, smirking when Aziraphale found themself yawning as well. “Do you want to go eat? It’s been a hell of a day and it’s not even five.”

“Terror will do that to a person,” said Aziraphale thickly, letting out a sigh and rubbing at their face, hating that they felt on the verge of tears again. “I don’t think I’m up for being out at the moment. It’s going to take me a bit to shake this off, I’m afraid.”

“Uh, yeah,” Crowley agreed, resting their head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You know, I gave Esk some advice today; To stay inside and forget about the world for a while, when it gets to be too much. What d’you think?”

Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Let’s go home, angel.”


	39. The Comforts Of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets pulled into Crowley's no good, very bad dream.

They did a thorough sweep of the area and the building and the flat before stepping around Aziraphale’s spell and securing the door and the flat against the world. They were both exhausted by the events of the day, though Aziraphale still took the time to hang Crowley’s glasses and coat and their own coat before following them into the office, somehow both surprised and not when Crowley caught them in another hug. “You must be terribly tired,” Aziraphale murmured apologetically. “After everything.”

“Yeah.” Crowley rested their face against the reformed angel’s shoulder, a few tears escaping in spite of their efforts when Aziraphale hugged them back. Every act of tenderness was a bittersweet balm, and Crowley cleared their throat, trying to sound normal as they explained, “The time stuff’s tiring, but not as much as it used to be. Not surprising I sss’pose.”

“No, I suppose not,” Aziraphale agreed, not fooled by their best friend’s attempt at nonchalance, not with the tears dampening their shoulder or the shuddering exhalation that Crowley released when they soothingly rubbed their hands over Crowley’s back. Or perhaps they were feeling their own trembling, at how close they’d come to losing everything. Knowing Crowley wouldn’t want another apology, Aziraphale asked instead, “Will you let me tend to you, Crowley? I’m sure the rest would do you good.”

Crowley shook their head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, let out another shuddering breath and asked, “Rest with me?” They looked up when Aziraphale gasped in surprised. It was a overture of trust and friendship; no debt, no duty - asking for nothing more than Aziraphale’s company, that just being in their presence was tending enough. “Rest with me, Aziraphale?”

“I, yes, yes Crowley, gladly,” Aziraphale said thickly, blinking away tears.

They went hand in hand to the bedroom and magicked themselves into their pajamas and Crowley snapped the blinds closed and the lights off, leaving them laying awkwardly under the covers in the darkness. The silence dragged on for a moment before Crowley worked up the nerve to say, “You, er, we could h-hug, uh, while we’re laying down? Like we did after the pillow fight? And while you tended me last night? It’s uh, called cuddling?”

“Ah, yes, I’m familiar with the term. Read about it,” Aziraphale admitted, feeling a little flustered considering the _other_ things that tend to happen in those sorts of books. Cautiously turning on their side they shifted closer to Crowley, not entirely sure what to do with their arms, their hands. Goodness, _their legs._ The books hadn’t really explained how to cuddle properly, only that it happened, usually before another type of intimate experience, none of which were appropriate for the moment. It had been so much easier, simpler, with laughter in the daylight. Without what had happened hanging over them.

Being corporeal hadn’t felt so fraught in a very long time. Without wings to groom to keep spiraling thoughts occupied, what had been so easy when caught up in the moment felt almost impossibly awkward. “Uh, let’s try-” Crowley also shifted closer and tentatively put their right arm under Aziraphale’s head and curled it around their shoulders, urging them closer.

Aziraphale shifted and hesitantly moved their right arm so their hand rested over Crowley’s heart. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” Crowley cleared their throat and admitted, “It’s good. Being hugged. Hugging you.”

Feeling Crowley’s breath hitch, Aziraphale gently shifted closer. “It’s been so lovely,” Aziraphale whispered, “being able to be close with you. Holding you. Being held by you.” There was so much more they wanted to say, but how much would be too much? Their own breath hitched and they confessed, “My dearest friend, thank you, for saving me from myself.”

“Aziraphale…”

Crowley turned into their embrace, and cocooned in the darkness and one another’s arms, they couldn’t help but recall a fortnight previously, of desperately holding on to one another with words clogging their throats. Words that had been left unsaid even as they’d parted, possibly for the last time, to play with fire. Of even further memories, of other times when they’d held on in secret and silence.

While they might have lingered amid one another’s outer auras for the rest of eternity as non-corporeal beings, not very much time at all passed before they were too uncomfortable to stay as they were and reluctantly they eased only as far apart as was needed to find more comfortable positions. They settled facing one another, their hands clasped together in the small space left between them.

Aziraphale, struggling to keep their eyes open, yawned and Crowley yawned in response and urged, “You should try to sleep.”

“Hmm. Afraid I’m not very good at it, you know.” Aziraphale smiled at the amused noise Crowley made and said quite unsubtly, “You’re the expert, you’ll have to show me how it’s done.”

Crowley knew exactly what they were playing at, and former demon decided contrarily to try to get Aziraphale to fall asleep first, and they knew just what to do. “You close your eyes and relax. ‘Snot exactly hard. Babies manage to do it.”

Aziraphale made a show of closing their eyes, only to open them again a moment later. “Afraid not,” they said, trying not to laugh when Crowley rolled their eyes.

“Ridiculousss,” Crowley hissed in feigned annoyance. “Close your eyes and keep ‘em closed.”

Aziraphale smiled and closed their eyes again, letting out a put-upon sigh. “Like this?”

“Uh huh.” Crowley gently stroked their thumb over Aziraphale’s and summoned their phone to their other hand, hastily turning down the brightness when Aziraphale frowned. “Keep ‘em shut,” they scolded, watching for a moment before thumbing through their files for the one they were looking for. With one last nervous look Crowley cleared their throat and didn’t let themself hesitate. “When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor…”

Aziraphale’s eyes popped open in surprise and recognition, quite touched that they recalled The Secret Garden was one of their favorites books to read when stressed. They quickly closed them again when Crowley frowned scoldingly and they settled in to listen contentedly to their dearest friend haltingly read the first few chapters aloud.

Crowley paused at the end of the third chapter, clearing their throat when Aziraphale didn’t say anything, knowing that they weren’t asleep. Mostly because their outer auras were still entwined, and while it was slightly jarring to maintain the connection while resting, neither one of them wanted to let go. “That help?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, not opening their eyes, shifting their clasped hands to tenderly kiss Crowley’s knuckles. “Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re still awake,” Crowley pointed out, watching Aziraphale’s eyes crinkle even while closed and their lips curl into a suppressed smile. “Warlock was always asleep by the third chapter when you read to him. I sssuck at it.”

“No!” Aziraphale opened their eyes then, smiling to see Crowley was teasing. “Quite the contrary in fact. I enjoyed listening to you so much that I didn’t want to miss a single word. ...Especially your little mental mutterings about bad parents and rude little brats and nasty adults deserving a good scare.”

Crowley blinked in surprise, startled to hear they’d been passively projecting strongly enough for Aziraphale to perceive in spite of both of their shields. A clear sign the bond was rapidly returning to what it had been before the Fall, being something they’d accidentally discovered was possible during one of their frequent trips to earth. “Oh, er, forgot ‘bout that-”

Aziraphale smiled playfully and squeezed Crowley’s hand. “It was the best part.”

They smirked in relief. “You skipped a lot, reading it to Warlock,” Crowley said, setting the mobile aside. “I mean, I was only listening in so I’d know what to counteract, obviously.”

Aziraphale chuckled at their playful expression. “Oh yes, obviously.” They smothered another yawn. “He was too young to explain the questionable elements to at first, and I’d expected to use it for lessons as Mr. Cortese but when you said he recognized us I thought it best to avoid any connection to Francis. And you were right,” they said with a concerned and fond smile. “Probably too simple for his tastes now, but he might end up reading it again out of sheer desperation while grounded.” The reformed angel’s expression turned a little sly. “Maybe he’ll even get around to reading the Lord of the Rings.”

The former demon took the obvious bait. “Yeah, speaking of, how in the world do you know Elrond’s speech? You should have seen Esk’s face,” they laughed. “I thought you couldn’t watch movies or TV? You had the cadence down and everything.”

“Considering how often Warlock watched those movies with Oleg and Penny over the summer, how could I not know it?” Aziraphale smiled when Crowley chuckled a little. “I enjoyed the books well enough, and it was interesting to see how they altered the story. But I never dared to watch more than a scene or two for fear it would end up breaking,” they sighed.

“Well, now you can watch whatever you like. And, wait, you _read_ the Lord of the Rings?” When Aziraphale hummed a confirmation Crowley asked in disbelief, “Epic fantasy? Really?”

“Yes. Why is that hard to believe?” Aziraphale grumbled, rubbing at their eyes.

Crowley shrugged and realized they’d just assumed Aziraphale wouldn’t enjoy anything but _serious literature_. “Huh, I dunno, seemed a little… beneath your taste I suppose?”

“I am not, and never have been, a book snob,” Aziraphale scolded. “I’ve read at least a little of every genre there is, especially once I started actually trying to sell books. And I’ll have you know I rather enjoyed the Hobbit, and the rest of his books.”

“When’d you read them?” Crowley asked curiously.

“When they were originally published, of course.” Aziraphale fought another yawn. “I gifted Warlock a complete set for his 10th birthday. I thought, well, I imagine you know full well what I thought.”

“Yeah. Same reason I gave him the movies.” Crowley gave Aziraphale’s hand a squeeze, watching as their eyelids drooped and stayed closed. “Same reasoning I used on you eleven years ago,” they teased lowly. “There’s some good in this world, Aziraphale. And it’s worth fighting for.”

“Indeed, oh Crowley the Unassessably Wily,” Aziraphale chuckled sleepily, “Cleverest and Greatest of Calamities,” they murmured, smiling to hear Crowley laugh at the playful flattery, no longer fighting to keep their eyes open. “How lucky the world… that you love it so.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale settle into true sleep and when they couldn’t keep their own eyes open any longer, dared to whisper, “Isn’t the world I love, angel.”

**∞**

Aziraphale sat up with a start, casting around the brightly lit rainbow-spattered room with a feeling of dread, confused to discovered it wasn’t a physical threat they were sensing. _Must have been some remnant from the day,_ Aziraphale thought dismissively, trying shake off the feeling of dread. _My first nightmare. Not surprising I suppose, after today._ The reformed angel stared down curiously at the golden-bronze heatless flame that was wreathing their body in addition to the scintillating light. “Well. This is certainly new.”

“-Aziraphale.”

 _Oh dear, I’ve woken Crowley-_ Aziraphale quickly withdrew their radiance and turned, ready to apologize, but the words died on their lips to see Crowley’s eyes were still closed.

“Dammit, angel, this is no time to sulk,” Crowley growled.

“I’m not sulking,” Aziraphale protested but they didn’t reply. When Crowley twitched as though reaching for something, they realized their friend was still asleep and that, with their outer auras still entwined, it was _Crowley’s_ nightmare that had awoken them. Not wanting to startle their sleeping friend, they murmured lowly, “Crowley?”

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Crowley snarled, but there was an unfamiliar desperation in their voice and Aziraphale leaned closer, concerned to see how pale and drawn they looked. Crowley twitched again and pantomimed activating the compass with a hand that shook. “Why isn’t it working? Work bless you! Why won’t you answer? Why can’t I find you?”

Aziraphale reached out to clasp their trembling hand. “I’m right here, Crowley!” Only the contact didn’t wake the former demon, it somehow pulled the reformed angel into the accursed nightmare instead. They blinked and found themself in the Bentley, Freddie Mercury singing about his best friend as they sped through Soho towards the shop.

Crowley, their left hand clenched on the wheel of the Bentley, right hand clenched around the uselessly spinning compass, stomped on the gas and ‘stepped around a block of traffic and Aziraphale bit back a curse of surprise, grateful that they’d never experienced _that_ while they were actually in the car.

“It’s never been this bad,” Crowley mumbled to themself, pressing their arms against the wheel to keep themself from trembling. The dread for Aziraphale that had dropped over them after dealing with Hastur was a vice around their heart. Terror stabbed through them when they caught a whiff of smoke and saw the dark billow of it ahead and the compass slipped from their hand. “Shit shit shit, they went after Aziraphale too, I led them right here, fuck-”

“Crowley! Don’t! It’s just a nightmare!” Aziraphale followed them out of the car, trying to keep them from approaching the burning building, but the air had gained a denseness that Aziraphale had to push to get through. The reformed angel looked down at themself, disconcerted to discover they were only visible in the very vaguest sense, looking like nothing more than a trick of the light. “Well, hell.”

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” a firefighter demanded, almost stepping in front of Crowley but one look at their face and the man thought better of it.

Crowley snarled, “Do I look like I run a bookshop?” and ignored the rest of what the man was saying, snapping open the doors and running inside, snapping them shut again before the humans could try to follow.

 _This isn’t just a nightmare. This is a memory,_ Aziraphale realized, fighting the resistance in the air to step through the smoldering doors after Crowley and the sight of the bookshop engulfed in flames in Crowley’s all too vivid imagination knocked the breath from them.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley dodged a cascade of burning books from the upper floor. “Aziraphale, where the heaven are you, you idiot!? I can’t find you!” They tried the back room, hoping against hope that there was something, anything to explain the lack of connection on the compass. Any moment now they’d pop up and the choking dread would ease its grip.

The resistance was growing and Aziraphale struggled with each step closer, their heart breaking to see Crowley casting about desperately amid the flames and smoke, their eyes glowing with the effort to suppress the raging inferno and keep themself incorporated against the heat Aziraphale couldn’t feel.

“Aziraphale, for go-, sat- Ahh! For somebody’s sake, where are you?!” Crowley wailed as they came back into the main area, looking up towards the second floor in hopes of seeing some sign of where they’d gone. It felt like they’d been searching for hours, the shop impossibly huge and maze-like and unfamiliar amid the smoke and flames.

Aziraphale gasped in shock when the blast of water knocked Crowley off their feet and the breath from their lungs. “Oh no, no no!” Aziraphale gasped, desperate to reach them, touch them, but the resistance was at its worst yet and the reformed angel began to struggle against it in earnest. They tried to reach Crowley through the bond only to be repulsed by what they could only equate to static, caused by something very powerful interfering with the connection.

**∞**

“Gah, you’re gone.” Slowly, groaning in pain, Crowley pulled themself upright, left arm curled protectively over their likely broken ribs but the pain was a distant thing beyond the overwhelming grief and fury and despair. “Somebody’s killed my best friend! Bastards! All of you!” _My fault, all my fault. I got them into this. I got them killed. Unforgivable._

Distantly Crowley knew it was just a memory, just a nightmare, but caught in the moment with ash and regret searing their throat it was too terribly real to escape from. They almost welcomed the heat, picking up the singed Agnes Nutter book from beside them, oddly out of place in the middle of the floor, one of the only things not actively burning.

Between one moment and the next the roaring fire receded, no hotter or louder than a hearth-fire, leaving Crowley in a clear space in the center of the smoke-filled room and the book transformed into a packet of papers much like the one Gabriel had summoned.

“Hello Crawly,” a moistly guttural voice whispered nastily from the swirling wall of black smoke. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Oh?” Crowley said, unable to shake the all too real grief gripping them, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. _Gone,_ they recalled thinking, were thinking. _I’ve lost them. Too late to tell them, too late for anything now. No point, no bloody point to any of it anymore._

“How’s it feel to know your _best friend_ prefers to associate with _humans_ over the likes of you?” The nasty voice cut through the despair, clearly trying to slice deeper than they’d already been cut. Crowley shook their head in denial. “Oh yes, there’s the evidence, Crawly, in your hand. A whole series of them going back hundreds of years, taken into the angel’s confidence, instead of you. Imagine being so desperate you’d stoop to trusting _humans_.”

Crowley shook their head again to realize the voice was trying to make them jealous. _This isn’t good,_ the little voice in the back of their mind distantly murmured, muffled by the painful weight of their own true memories and the added weight of the magic they dimly realized must be holding them in the nightmare. “Humans die,” they said with a dismissive shrug, hoping their growing worry wasn’t showing.

“That’s just more proof the angel doesn’t trust you, Crawly.” The thick acrid smoke billowed and a shadow stepped out of it to stand over them. “Why would they entrust things to humans, instead of you? But they have reason, don’t they? Always scheming, aren’t you, only to slither away and hide whenever things get complicated.”

“Didn’t, not this time,” Crowley mumbled, feeling numbly unsurprised to find one of the Dark Council standing inside their nightmare. _This is very not good._ “Lord Vassenego?”

“It’s been an interesting time, trying to figure out what you’ve meddled with,” Vassenego said, revealing blackened teeth that gleamed like razors. “It’s been left to the Dark Council to deal with you, and deal with you I will, one way or another.”

Crowley struggled inwardly against the oppressive despair that continued to grip them and looked down at the packet of papers. “Ah.” On top was the paperwork for Aziraphale’s silent partners. “That’s what this is about? Betraying Aziraphale? And you think trying to make me jealousss is going to work? What’s next, threats of eternal torment? Yeah, no.” They dropped the paperwork onto the floor and a little bit of anger began to banish the despair and they tried to call on their power, but nothing happened. Tried a miracle, still nothing.

Vassenego made a wet gargling sound and Crowley realized they were laughing. “I knew you were smart, though clearly not nearly as smart as you think you are,” Vassenego said. “It’s not a threat, Crawly, it’s a _promise_.” A flick of their gecko-like fingers and a shiny little black thing flipped through the air and thwapped down onto the papers, revealing a button from Crowley’s waistcoat. “I found a little souvenir from Hastur’s rough handling.”

Crowley’s heart sank in understanding. _Aziraphale’s going to discorporate me, if Vassenego doesn’t do it first._ “Oh.”

“So set on being independent, weren’t you Crawly? Hardly ever used a miracle when you could use your own power instead, used to get commendations for that, didn’t you? And no one thought anything of it. Except me. And here we are, with you so neatly trussed up in bindings of your own making.” They let out another gargling laugh. “Guess your little angelic friend didn’t warn you about that, hmm? Maybe _they’re_ smarter than I thought,” they sneered, looking around at the merrily burning bookshop. “Bet you’ve lost more than a few buttons and things in their presence over the years.”

Crowley shook their head again in denial. “What do you-” They gasped when a sudden shock of pain went through them, like being hit by the water all over again and they could feel part of their already depleted power being siphoned away. _Fuck._

“Is this all it took to make you take their place?” Vassenego asked. “A button and a curse? Quite pathetic, really. To hear Hastur and Dagon and Beelzebub talk, they’ve made you the mastermind to end all masterminds. But I won’t be so easily gulled, Crawly.” They leaned over Crowley, smiling nastily and stealing a little more of their power, sending another shock of pain through them, and shuffled through the packet to find the most recent paperwork Aziraphale had filed. “If anyone knows who this is, it’ll be you.” They dropped the papers back onto Crowley’s lap. “Won’t it?”

Crowley didn’t say anything, clutching at their aching ribs and staring down at the papers, their brows drawn together in confusion.

**∞**

Aziraphale was on the edge of panic, seeing Crowley go strangely still in the middle of the inferno, their clothes beginning to smolder as they were distracted by something, or someone. “Crowley! Wake up!” The reformed angel unfurled their wings in desperation and tried to clear the smoke from the air, but it became impossibly dense the closer they moved to Crowley and they couldn’t move their wings through it.

The former demon cringed, clearly in pain and then again, and Aziraphale realized the feeling of dread wasn’t just a lingering memory but a warning that someone was actively attacking their best friend. “No! Crowley!” The golden-bronze flames and scintillating light began to glow around Aziraphale, far brighter than the mere memory of fire, revealing the writhing bands of hellish magic hidden within the smoke coiled around their friend.

**∞**

Crowley was stunned to realize Aziraphale hadn’t just created a silent partnership with the current alias, they’d been made heir to all of Aziraphale’s earthly goods in the event of their ‘removal from earth’. They’d even pre-arranged for the heavenly documentation to be forwarded to the current alias by one of Crowley’s dummy corporations. _Shit, no wonder they’re a target; discorporate Aziraphale, possess the heir, shop’s their’s free and clear._ The paper was dated the very next morning after they’d agreed to thwart the plan together.

“Well?” Vassenego demanded.

“Uh…” _No power to lie, but we’re both fucked if I tell the truth. Stall it is._ Crowley flicked through the papers, distracted momentarily to notice Cormorant Occidens had been killed in France around the time Crowley had left Aziraphale there, replaced by Caradoc Ocellus shortly thereafter. And after the disastrous meeting in the park, Calypso Ocellus took over, followed by Caron Ocellus after the church, and Cass Ocellus after Aziraphale gave them holy water, and lastly Cara Ocellus, a little over eleven years ago. Vassenego shifted restlessly and Crowley admitted, “Yeah, I know who it is.” They braced themself for pain and kept their eyes on the papers, kicking themself for getting in such a mess. _Sorry, angel._ _Should’ve listened._

“Excellent. So, what do you want?”

Crowley dragged their eyes away from the papers to stare suspiciously up at Vassenego. “Wot?” Something behind lord of hell caught their attention - a radiance amid the smoke that didn’t belong to their memory or to the demonic nightmare and some of the tightness around Crowley’s heart eased in recognition. _Aziraphale!_ They almost tried to use the bond but hesitated, worried Vassenego would be able to sense it. “W-what d’you mean by that?”

Vassenego grinned. “We both know I could break you with a thought, Crawly, but you’re far more useful to me in once piece. So, let’s make a deal instead, shall we? You know what we want, the Library and all it entails, before Heaven can get their hands on it. You give us what we need and I give you what you want and everyone walks away happy. What do you say?”

Crowley blinked with sudden understanding. _So the binding isn’t strong enough to make me talk or they’d have done it already. Because they don’t actually have control over me like they want me to believe. Good to know. Alright, you learned about this, think! There’s always a weakness, a loophole, a counter. There’s no magic made that can’t be unmade,_ they recalled Aziraphale saying, their eyes lingering on that brightness just past Vassenego’s shoulder.

When Crowley just stared at them Vassenego said, “Perhaps a little something to show you we’re acting in good faith, hmm? We know they’re planning something big for your _friend_. And now, so do you. So... What. Do. You. Want?”

“What do I want?” Crowley echoed. _Yeah, right, good faith,_ Crowley thought, mind still racing. _Notice you’re not offering to let me go._ “I, uh, I need a minute to think.” _They’ve put a binding over me, strong enough to block me from using my powers but too weak to control me, what kind of magic- shit! So bloody obvious!_

“Oh, that’s fine,” said Vassenego with a wave of their hand. The smoke billowed, revealing a passage. “Take your time. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be listening.”

“Wait.” Vassenego didn’t bother to hide their triumphant smile as they closed the passage and Crowley slowly stood up, left arm pressed to their aching ribs. _They’ve got an advantage._ “Can you tell me what they’re planning to do?” they asked, and took a stumbling step not quite towards them, steering them towards the shining brightness. _But I’ve got something better._

“We don’t know that much,” Vassenego said, backing ever so slightly away. “Very hush hush. It’s big, whatever it is, with a lot of resources being tied up around it.”

 _Stall, stall, stall, c’mon angel, use that damn big brain of yours!_ “And you’ll give me whatever I want, just for telling you who this Cara person is?”

“Once we have the Library, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted.” Vassenego’s voice took on a nasty edge. “Including the angel.”

Crowley did not take the bait. _C’mon Aziraphale, I know you can get me out of this mess._ “Offer me money?”

“If you like,” said Vassenego with an amused shrug. “As much as you want.”

The brightness flared and began to shine through the smoke and Crowley had to look away, afraid Vassenego would see the relief in their eyes. Taking another stumbling step towards them, they asked, “Power too? Promise me that?”

“Gladly,” said the demon lord, taking another step back, beginning to get the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. “All you could ever want and more, Crawly.”

“My name, is _Crowley_.”

**∞**

“Crowley!” Aziraphale watched powerlessly as they struggled to their feet, lips moving as they spoke, but they couldn’t hear anything over the growing roar of the fire. It was Crowley’s left arm, held low across their chest, that caught their attention. [Curse-bound, cut me free,] Crowley signed, talking to someone only they could see and hear.

 _Curse-bound!_ Aziraphale sucked in a horrified gasp, staring in sudden understanding at the smoke with its strands of hellish power. A demon had come into possession of something magically tied to Crowley and was using it against them, making them vulnerable to magic they otherwise wouldn’t be. _Magic so old it’s not even magic anymore._ Neither magic nor miracle could free someone curse-bound; instead it required symbolically destroying the metaphysical tie to the item being used against them. “Cut cut cut, what can I use-” Aziraphale splayed their fiery wings open wide, lighting the whole room as they looked for something to use.

There was a flicker of relief in Crowley’s eyes and they looked away, signing and finger-spelling their next message, [See you! Enemy k-r-a-k-e-n! Cut me free!]

“Enemy _kraken?_ What does that even mean?” Aziraphale grumbled, rubbing at their face. Memory hit then, of their drunken discussion all those years ago. _Kraken. Great big bugger,_ they’d told Crowley and it all fell into place. _A powerful lord of hell has Crowley curse-bound._ They wracked their mind for something, anything that would work to symbolically cut away the hellish bindings and their eye fell to the leading edges of their mantled wings, to the long fiery primary feathers, flaming away like anything. “Well, this is a dream after all.”

**∞**

A fiery blade-feathered wing flashed out of the smoke in Vassenego’s peripheral vision and the demon lord recoiled in surprise, demanding, “What the Heaven was that?”

“Why don’t you make me tell?” Crowley taunted. The familiar comforting radiance was growing brighter and each breath came easier than the last.

Vassenego growled and the roar and heat of the fire returned full force. “You’re bound, trapped in here until I release you! Tell me what I want to know or I’ll leave you to burn!”

“Am I bound?” Crowley reached and with only a little effort their lightning-laced auroral corona began to crackle around them. _Almost there, angel!_ “Guess not. Clearly you’re not as smart as you think you are. And you’re nowhere near as smart as my partner.”

“ _Partner_? Are you trying to claim it’s _you?_ ” Vassenego laughed in disbelief. “No, there’s no bluffing your way out this time, Crawly.”

“My name-” Anger helped them push through and they unfurled their wings, lightning trailing along the obsidian-sharp edges of each dark iridescent primary feather. “-is Anthony J. Crowley.” A flash of movement had Vassenego recoiling with a gasp of shock and pain, blood dripping down their cheek from the shallow cut Crowley had inflicted.

“And Nenna Ashtoreth.” Another flash of movement, another gasp of pain and disbelief, another bleeding razor thin cut on Vassenego’s other cheek.

“How..?” It happened so fast, Vassenego didn’t have time to process it and their hands shook as they touched their cheeks and stared at the dark oily blood. “That’s not possible!”

“And Cara Ocellus.” Their hands became lightning-edged talons and they grinned. “You want to kill my partner,” said Crowley, eyes glowing brightly, and the heat and roar of the fire vanished. “Prepare to die.”

Desperately, Vassenego reopened the passage out of the nightmare, only for a blazing golden-bronze wing to cut through the smoke, sending them staggering from the magical recoil when the last of the bindings was severed.

The hellish smoke dissipated completely, and it was then that Vassenego realized it wasn’t the nightmare fire lighting the room, but Aziraphale’s fiery radiance. “You can’t be here!” they blurted. “Heaven said-”

“Heaven be damned!” Crowley and Aziraphale snapped and snarled in unison. Their joined powers crashed through the connection Crowley had taken control over when the binding-curse had rebounded, searing the stolen button, and the bewildered lord of hell holding it, clean away.

**∞**

Crowley sat up with a gasp, relieved to discover they were in the safety of their flat in the comfort of their own bed but then gasped in pain when Aziraphale caught them in a hug, their broken ribs and heat damaged skin making itself known at the contact. “Ah!”

“Oh no! I’m sorry!” Golden light flowed from Aziraphale’s hands, repairing all the harm caused by Vassenego and the accursed nightmare and the reformed angel let out a relieved breath when Crowley hugged them back. “I thought you were having a nightmare but it pulled me in when I tried to wake you. Oh lo- someone, how did they in?” Aziraphale moved to begin another sweep but Crowley stopped them. “Do you know what happened?”

“They found a button, from my clothes.” When Aziraphale frowned Crowley shrugged sheepishly. “My, er, personally magicked up clothes? That I wear all the time and have for a while? That you warned me about, repeatedly?”

Aziraphale pulled away and took their shoulders, giving them an appalled stare. “Crowley!”

“I know, I know, angel, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” Crowley flopped back down onto the bed and a tired laugh escaped them. “My own damn fault.”

Aziraphale pressed their hands over their eyes then pulled them away to stare at them in shock. “Crowley, how could you? Not even bothering to cleanse them-!”

“It’s been thousssands of years and not once, until now, has it been an issue.” They gave Aziraphale a shrug. “I hate it, alright, going to all those different shops and trying on clothes that don’t fit right anyway, and dealing with grumpy humans-”

“Have all your clothes- Crowley!!” they scolded when the former demon nodded. “Saints and demons preserve _you!_ And your glasses! You, you, you toss them about like, like-”

“Nuh uh, those I bought in bulk,” Crowley protested, cringing at the look Aziraphale seared them with. “Yeah, alright, you can scold me later, okay?” They held out their arm in invitation, the amusement beginning to slip from their expression.

Aziraphale’s expression softened and they laid down beside Crowley, giving them a very gentle hug. “I’ll be scolding you now and later,” Aziraphale said into their shoulder, smiling when they snorted. “Do you have any idea how long it’ll take, to unbind all those things?” Crowley made an annoyed noise and a relieved chuckle escaped them. “Very well, I suppose that’s enough.”

“Thanks angel,” Crowley said, unable to keep their voice from going rough. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale hugged them close. “Will you tell me? Was, that was a memory, of the fire?”

“Yeah.” Crowley let out a sigh and closed their eyes, not wanting to remember but knowing Aziraphale deserved an explanation. They rolled onto their back and tucked their left hand behind their head and Aziraphale propped themself up on their left arm to better see their face. Crowley absently stroked their right hand over Aziraphale’s shoulders, soothed by the brush of fabric against their fingers. “I’d just ditched Hastur in voicemail when I got hit with the worst feeling, worse than the church and I tried calling you, tried the compass but it didn’t show me anything, like you weren’t-” They cleared their throat, tasting the memory of soot and ash from the nightmare.

“I didn’t have it on me, when I was discorporated,” Aziraphale murmured. “I couldn’t risk _them_ noticing it, so I always left it in my desk, when I was dealing with upstairs.”

“So, uh, yeah, that’s what happened,” Crowley finished abruptly.

“Ah,” they said, reaching up to gently brush their fingers over Crowley’s hair, easing the loose curls away from their forehead. “You picked up Agnes’ book and then you went still?”

“Yeah, that’s when Vassenego showed up. Gave me a couple jabs to soften me up. Wanted to know who your partner was. Arsehole kept calling me Crawly. Promised me whatever I wanted, once they had the Library.” They smirked at the memory but it slipped away to recall what else they’d said. “Said upstairs is planning something big against you, but didn’t say what. Might’ve been a lie.”

“Impossible to tell,” Aziraphale agreed, not pressing for more when Crowley fell silent, instead continuing to gently brush their fingers over Crowley’s creased forehead, worried by how tired they looked. It had been a very long day.

“It was such a relief when I realized you were there.” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale then, smiling faintly. “I saw you glowing through the smoke.”

“I was pulled in while you were still driving but the binding kept me from reaching you. And I couldn’t see them or hear them talking until the very end. You were just sitting there, smoldering, for the longest time.” They pressed their face to Crowley’s shoulder and inhaled deeply, closing their eyes but still seeing it so vividly.

Crowley let out a heavy sigh. “Part of their plan, I think. Keep me trapped in there long enough to really hurt me, maybe even discorporate me. Get me out of the way.”

“That seems likely.” Aziraphale blinked back tears, meeting Crowley’s gaze. “You need to rest. It seems unlikely that there will be another attempt tonight, but as a precaution I think it best I keep watch? Would you like-”

Crowley shook their head, closing their eyes and letting out a silent sigh when Aziraphale moved away. They felt the bed move as the reformed angel settled themself into a comfortable position, and Crowley recognized the quiet shuffle of pages as they found their place in their book. _I put them in danger. I dragged them into my nightmare._ They listened to the quiet sounds of Aziraphale breathing, the swish of pages turning, trying not to think, unsure how much time had passed when Aziraphale’s hand brushed against their shoulder.

Aziraphale knew they weren’t sleeping, but more so they could feel a lingering disquiet around their friend, and they stared at the page they’d been trying to read, wondering what Vassenego had said to cause it, if it was them. Perhaps it was the reminder of their betrayal that had Crowley reconsidering their closeness, their friendship. _If I’d just told them, the fire wouldn’t have happened._ “Should I withdraw?” they asked when Crowley turned to look at them.

Crowley mutely shook their head and turned onto their stomach, close enough to feel Aziraphale’s warmth radiating under the covers but the terrible thoughts spiraling in their head kept them from speaking. _My fault, all my fault. Unforgivable._ They pressed their face against the pillow, closing their eyes tight against the sting of tears, going still when Aziraphale gently touched their shoulder again.

“I can go, if you would rather be alone,” Aziraphale offered quietly.

“No!” Crowley clasped their hand tightly, and the terrible memory was there again, smoke and grief choking them. A racking sob escaped them and then Aziraphale was in their arms holding them close. “I’m sorry, angel, I’m sorry. I put you in danger-”

“No, Crowley, no,” soothed Aziraphale, hugging them tightly. “They couldn’t do anything to harm me directly. And if I’d just told you, just trusted you, the fire wouldn’t have happened-”

“If I hadn’t dragged you into this in the first place,” Crowley said hoarsely.

“I’m glad you did.” Aziraphale smiled tearfully when Crowley shook their head in denial. “It’s true, I’m glad, glad to have stood up for what’s right, glad to be free of them, glad to be with my best friend. And you are, you know, my best, dearest, most treasured friend.”

Crowley let out a wordless noise of denial and pulled away enough to see their face, utterly undone by the fond tenderness in their smile. “Aziraphale, I-” They cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, feeling the tears dampening it and swallowed down the words aching to be said, trembling with emotion and exhaustion. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” Aziraphale soothed, blinking away more tears. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You just need to rest. You’re so cold,” they worried, gently chafing Crowley’s hands and shoulders after turning on the heated blanket. “You’re never this cold.”

Crowley curled into their warmth, eyes only open the barest amount. “Drained.”

“Oh! Of course, that bastard. Let me?” Crowley reluctantly nodded and Aziraphale gathered them close, sending some of their own energy through their twined auras and the bond, sighing in relief when Crowley’s shivering began to ease. “Rest now, my dear,” they murmured, and Crowley slowly nodded off into sleep in the comfort of Aziraphale’s embrace.


	40. The Ties That Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley cuts ties with some of their baggage with Aziraphale's help.

Crowley hovered between sleep and wakefulness, wrapped in the warmth and scent of sunshine, sure they were dreaming of being curled close to Aziraphale, their knuckles drifting over Crowley’s shoulder in a light soothing motion. “This is the best dream,” Crowley murmured, hugging them tightly, eyes popping open when Aziraphale let out a surprised squeak and dropped their book on Crowley’s face. “Ow.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Aziraphale hastily miracled the book into the nightstand drawer and smiled at Crowley’s embarrassed but amused expression, relieved when they didn’t withdraw. “You look far less weary than you did last night. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Crowley agreed, rubbing at their eyes to hide their embarrassed blush. “You?”

Aziraphale hummed. “Physically fine, but I’m still quite miffed with you.” They said it teasingly, continuing to brush their knuckles soothingly over Crowley’s shoulders. “I’ve been thinking it over while you slept and honestly, the magnitude of this is truly mind boggling. Thousands of years worth of creations.” Aziraphale withdrew just far enough to look Crowley in the eyes. “Crowley.”

Crowley let out an inarticulate noise and flung themself onto their back, draping their forearm over their eyes, their voice amused and contrite when they grumbled, “Gak! Not the disappointed look, angel, anything but that! I already said I was sorry.”

There was an odd sense of relief in Crowley’s playfulness, and Aziraphale was more than willing to play along. “I suppose I could cry instead-”

“Definitely not that!” Crowley protested, sneering playfully in return when they saw Aziraphale’s teasing smile. “Fine, fine, disappointed look it is. I deserve it. You warned me and I didn’t listen. What do I-”

“We,” Aziraphale corrected.

A touched sigh escaped before they could stop it. “We, need to do to fix it?”

“Well, all things considered, I believe the simplest and most expeditious way to _fix it_ is for you, my dear, to sit and think about what you’ve done.”

Crowley spluttered with amusement. “Y-you’re putting me in time out?”

Aziraphale’s grin was quick and quite sharp. “I am. And while you sit and contemplate your predicament from in the midst of a spell-circle, I will perform a complete ritual cleansing and casting off for you,” they said, some of the seriousness of the situation seeping through their playful teasing. “If you’re amenable, of course?”

“Yeah, sure, I mean, whatever you think’s best.” Crowley made no move to get up, instead slipping their hand into Aziraphale’s. “I appreciate it.”

Aziraphale gave them a soft smile and stayed laying beside them, lacing their fingers together. “I know you do. Now, do you own _anything,_ clothing wise, that you haven’t magicked up whole cloth?”

“Er, well, underclothes? Don’t magic those up.” Crowley took a long moment to consider when Aziraphale stared at them, clearly unimpressed. “Agnes’ coat? The, er, the robe you made? Look, it can’t be _that_ different, making things with a miracle, is it?”

“It is,” Aziraphale sniffed, ignoring the silly little thrill they felt at having Crowley lay claim to their robe. “You’ve never once wondered why miracled items are easier to create?”

Crowley made a face and shook their head. “Er, no? Clearly a mistake on my part. Give me a quick overview?”

Aziraphale clucked their tongue but explained, “Miracled items bring an already existing item to where it’s needed, and while it might be altered greatly by the process, that’s _not_ the same as creating something purely from our own power. Miracled items retain very little er, _us-ness_ , while magicked things retain significantly more, interwoven into the very matter of such things, and it doesn’t erode with time as it will with a miracled item, especially if you use them frequently. And something you wear can absorb stray bits of your power just from being in such close proximity to you, acting like the obsidian to a much lesser degree.”

“Oh. Eh, wait, so can I nexus the things I magicked up?” Crowley asked. “You said that makes them safe, right? Can’t be used against us?”

“Yes… nexusing would probably alter things enough to remove the danger but only if they’re sturdy enough to withstand being infused that way.” Aziraphale’s stare went distant as they considered. “And you have to touch the items so that won’t solve the issue of items no longer within your possession. And it would be quite exhausting, imbuing so many items with your auras. Perhaps if you did it slowly, over the course of a few weeks…”

Crowley smiled to see that familiar distracted look and summoned up their waistcoat, which was indeed missing a button and tried to nexus with it, only for it to disintegrate into nothingness. They shrugged when Aziraphale looked their way. “Worth a shot, right?”

“Well, you can always make a new one after we’ve finished the ritual. Let’s see, we’re going to need blessed salt and chalk and candles of course...”

“Alright.” Crowley let their thoughts wander, not seeing any point of getting up before Aziraphale had sorted out everything they’d need. With the destruction of their waistcoat they considered the outfit they’d been wearing almost every day since taking on the persona of Mr. Harrison and realized they were more than done with it. _Agnes’s coat was a good start but it’s time for something different. Maybe pockets again? I’ve really missed having real pockets._ They were considering the other clothes in their walk-in closet when they realized, “Wait a minute, won’t I have to do a casting off of new things too?”

Aziraphale was still mentally working through the logistics of what to do and distractedly frowned at them. “No, of course not.”

“No, not _of course,”_ Crowley said, waiting until they had Aziraphale’s full attention to continue. “What about my residual me-ness? This is all about someone taking advantage when they’ve got bits of you, yeah? That’s like magic lesson number three isn’t it?”

“Oh… no, well, _yes,_ but no,” said Aziraphale, chuckling when Crowley made inarticulate noises of frustration and threw their free hand up in the air. “Magic lesson number three, yes, but for mortals. Though I’m surprised you recall any of my lessons, all things considered.”

Crowley cringed at the zing but couldn’t really protest. “I _remembered_ them, I just… didn’t follow them. So if it’s not that, what is it?”

Aziraphale blinked at that. “Did, did I never explain why I harped on this so?”

Crowley shook their head, eyes narrowing as they considered what they could recall. “Not directly, no. I guess you hinted at it? Something to do with the hosts?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale cleared their throat of the emotions dredged up by thinking about it; so many recent but underneath lurked something visceral that wasn’t even memory, just a terrible knowing. “As you know, while we were bound to the hosts their power was part of our power. So every item was almost like sharing a nexus with them without the actual protection of a nexus,” Aziraphale explained, stroking their thumb over Crowley’s to soothe themself. “In most cases it’s almost impossible for someone to utilize those remnants against us. It would require incredible amounts of magic to distill enough of our essence to create a usable focus.”

“Oh. But they don’t have to do much of anything to grab the us-ness, right? ‘Cause it’s all tied together?” Crowley asked, thinking of Vassenego’s words. “Just a button and a curse to pull my strings.” They closed their eyes, lips twisted into a wry smirk. “I’m a bleeding fool.”

Aziraphale smiled faintly to hear Crowley grumbling at themself under their breath. “I have to assume that’s how they caught you,” they blurted. “Er, back then. By getting a hold of something tied to you so strongly that they could make you return against your will.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale and knew without a doubt what that tie had been. “Yeah,” they said hoarsely. “I think you’ve got it right. But, how’d you get trapped in the nightmare? They didn’t have anything of yours?” they said, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand. “Was it because-”

 _Didn’t they?_ “I wasn’t trapped.” Aziraphale smiled faintly at Crowley’s confusion. “I was pulled in, yes, but I was never in danger the way you were. I wasn’t affected by the heat, nor could I interact with anything, much like when I was discorporated. I suppose I technically was.”

“Why though?” Crowley asked lowly, turning towards them again.

Aziraphale knew they weren’t asking how they’d been unscathed but answered that so much easier question first. “It wasn’t my dream. Memory. I didn’t, couldn’t, believe in it the way you did. I think the curse-”

Crowley frowned in annoyance. “Angel-”

“You’re my best friend Crowley, I couldn’t leave you trapped there, alone,” Aziraphale said quietly. “ _Wouldn’t_ leave you anywhere, even if it did hurt. My wings to yours. Always.”

“Always.” Crowley closed their eyes to ease the sting of welling tears and cleared their throat, asking, “So, what now?”

“I suppose we should get started? Er, if you’re up for it?” Crowley sighed but nodded and reluctantly got out of bed. Aziraphale quickly miracled themself into their clothes and summoned the robe, holding it open for them while politely averting their eyes. “No items you’ve created should go in the circle. …oh no.”

Crowley looked up from pulling off their pajama top, for a moment worried the sight of their naked torso had upset Aziraphale, but no, they were staring worriedly at the ring, which was startlingly purple with swirls of blue and green and a sunny spot of yellow. “What’s wrong?” They quickly stripped off the pajama pants and shrugged into the robe. “Did it break?”

 _It’ll lose its magic, when Crowley cuts tie with it,_ Aziraphale had realized and immediately scolded themself for being so selfish. “No, no, it’s just… You conjured it up, didn’t you? I hadn’t even considered that. It will stop working with the casting off. You should take it back and ne-” Aziraphale looked up when Crowley stopped them from pulling the ring off.

Crowley didn’t have it in them to pretend it didn’t hurt, to act playful over Aziraphale’s actions, making their voice rough with emotion when they asked, “Are you rejecting my gift?”

“What? N-no! No, of course not, Crowley, it’s the sweetest, loveliest thing and it makes me smile every time I look at it and...” Aziraphale struggled to put everything into words without saying too much. _They don’t need to deal with another burden on top of everything else._ “I don’t want to again be the reason something of yours is ruined. I’ve already asked you to risk far too much. It’s a danger to you.”

“Not in your hands, it’s not,” Crowley murmured, still holding Aziraphale’s hand, still holding in the words but they’d had a lot of experience over the years in saying without saying. “Only one way to fix it, yeah? Share this with me, best friend?”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale blinked away tears at the kindness of the gesture and nodded. It took but a moment to infuse the ring with both of their auras, tying it protectively to both of them. “You’re far too generous with me,” Aziraphale murmured, staring down at the very purple ring before tucking their hands away for fear Crowley would ask why it looked the way it did.

Crowley grinned. “Oh yeah? Well, we could call it even if you’ll agree to not harp on me about this, huh?” they teased, relieved when Aziraphale chuckled.

They pursed their lips as though considering, smiling when Crowley made a playfully annoyed noise. “No, I don’t think so. It’s my solemn duty as your best friend to make sure you take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, didn’t think that would work. S’pose I can’t complain about it,” Crowley conceded. “But you, er, you ssstill like it, yeah?” they couldn’t keep themself from asking, fidgeting with the lapels of the robe.

“Oh yes!” Aziraphale smiled down at the ring. “It truly brightens my day. I’d certainly like to give you s-something equally lovely... one day?” they said, voice ending on a squeak when Crowley’s eyes went wide and Aziraphale stopped breathing entirely in a moment of sheer panic to realize what they’d let slip. _I just told them I want to give them a courting gift. Oh lords and ladies, angels and tricksters, saints and demons preserve me, what have I done?!_

“I...” Crowley’s stared at Aziraphale’s pale face, at their wide golden eyes full of emotions Crowley saw as regret and worry and maybe even pity but they couldn’t make themself give a glibly dismissive reply. Part of them didn’t want to let Aziraphale off the hook; the same part that wondered what they’d say if Crowley answered honestly, but those words wouldn’t come either. “We should get started,” they croaked out when the silence began to drag on.

“Oh, er, right,” Aziraphale said, almost relieved that Crowley hadn’t responded to their accidental but heartfelt offer. _At least they didn’t laugh, or recoil with disgust. Just stared as though I’d gone occult again. For the best, really, to pretend it never happened,_ they tried to convince themself. “Where would be best for us to draw the circle?”

Crowley cleared their throat. “Uh… bathroom? It’s shielded and easy to clean up?”

“That will do.” Aziraphale waved for Crowley to lead the way, nodding in approval when Crowley flicked on the lights, revealing again the tropical paradise Crowley had created that Aziraphale had been somewhat avoiding in the time since they’d saved one another. “Yes, this is ideal. Have you cleansed it since, er-”

“I, uh, I miracled it, but I’m not sure that was enough,” Crowley admitted, pushing those memories away as best they could.

“A good cleaning spell should catch anything that might have lingered,” Aziraphale said, unbuttoning their cuffs and rolling up their sleeves, startled to catch them staring and thinking of what they’d said, about discorporating. “Crowley?”

“Grk?” Crowley said, shaking their head and grinning at Aziraphale’s expression. “Heh, I was kidding, angel. Er, mostly. No, I was, it’s just, haven’t really spent much time in here since we, er, came back and, look.” They walked past Aziraphale to poke at one of the gilded plants, revealing just the faintest shimmer of iridescence. “Your holy water didn’t do that.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale murmured, giving them a thoughtful sidelong look. “I have a feeling yours does. We could test it, if you like?”

“Eh… yeah?” Crowley flashed a grin when Aziraphale chuckled. “I’ll get a mister!”

Aziraphale was just finishing the cleaning spell when Crowley returned, a fresh plant mister in their left hand, and the faintly gilded one with Aziraphale’s water in their right. “Here, so, here’s one I hadn’t had long enough,” they said, waving a small plain potted plant around before setting it down near the door. “Ready?” Aziraphale nodded and Crowley spritzed holy water over the plant, grinning widely when it speared upwards and quickly unfurled new gilded leaves.

“Oh! That’s, that’s amazing,” Aziraphale admitted, taking the unblessed bottle when Crowley held it out to them. “I bless this in the name of Crowley, Celestial Dragon, Guardian of the Western Gate, Herald of Dusk, Keeper of Secrets and Storms.” _Beloved._ “Best Friend.”

Crowley smiled faintly at the endearment, sure it was Aziraphale’s way of explaining the faux pas of accidentally offering a courting gift, sighing to know they’d really just been trying to be… nice. Aziraphale spritzed the plants and both of them grinned to see the plants put on another growth spurt, brilliant iridescence swirling across new and old leaves alike. “So, uh, does, does it feel holy to you? I mean, yours does to me, so?”

Aziraphale spritzed the air and let the mist fall onto the back of their hand, smiling to feel an inrush of energy. “Yes, quite holy. Perhaps I should have used this on you last night,” the reformed angel teased, dodging away with a laugh when Crowley spritzed water at them. “No?”

“No,” Crowley sneered, putting away their feelings and the misters back into to their place in the kitchen. “Let’s get this started, eh? So, how big of a circle-”

“Oh, no,” said Aziraphale, pointing to a spot in the center of the room. “Sit. You’re in time out, remember?”

Crowley let out a growling disgusted sigh and dropped down into a crosslegged seat, hissing to feel how cold the tiles were and carefully tucking the robe underneath themself. “Angel-”

“No. You’re not familiar with this variety of spell-circle and it’s far too nuanced to teach it to you properly today and _don’t you dare!”_ Aziraphale scolded when Crowley lifted their hand to snap their fingers. “You haven’t had enough time to fully recover yet.” Crowley didn’t drop their hand and Aziraphale narrowed their eyes. “If you’re going to insist on being ridiculous Crowley, I will not hesitate to miracle up the mister and spritz you with every blessed drop of it.”

“Ugh, you would too, wouldn’t you?” Crowley leaned back on their hands with a sneer when Aziraphale nodded smugly and miracled up the components needed for the circle. “So,” they said, watching Aziraphale plotting out the circle with a turn of speed that had always amazed them. “Miracles.”

“Hmm? What about them?” Aziraphale asked absently, most of their mind on how best to seamlessly combine together all the elements needed to create the effects they wanted. They hadn’t lied to say Crowley was unfamiliar with the spell-circle, technically no one was familiar with it because Aziraphale was still in the midst of creating it.

“You said they’re not from us. I get the things being summoned and whatever, but the, the making things happen stuff? What do you think it’s from, if not from us?”

It took a moment for the question to penetrate and Aziraphale had to miracle away a smudge from their hand slipping before frowning as they looked up, then down, then at their own hands. “I…” They hesitated, not sure they wanted to confront the truth of it but shook their head at themself and returned to creating the circle. “When you were an angel, you could create a miracle by just willing something to happen, but if needed you could call on the host to power the miracle instead, yes?”

Crowley nodded, unsurprised by the tangential question. Aziraphale never approached the big questions head on. “Yeah, ‘course. Still make ‘em just by willing something to happen. Worked the same as being a demon. ‘Snot a nice feeling, hellish miracles though. Part of the reason I avoided them.” Crowley shifted a little, staring unseeing into their memories. “Knew both sides would keep track too and I couldn’t have them knowing my every move. Especially…” They blinked and met Aziraphale’s eyes. “I alwaysss remembered that last night in the Garden, and the bond we’d made. They couldn’t keep me from knowing I knew you, couldn’t keep me from knowing where you were or when you were in trouble.”

“Strained but not broken,” Aziraphale murmured, returning to their spellcrafting. “I believe that’s why they forbade, er, all types of relationships and pacts before the Fall. To make the division between the two sides as complete as possible.”

Crowley nodded thoughtfully. “We weren’t the only ones to break the rules.” They smirked at Aziraphale’s surprise. “Andras and Raphael.”

“Oh, yes. There was always a lot of grief around them,” Aziraphale recalled, letting out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how we’ll free Hex, or the two of them, if they are in the Library. And finding the Garden!” They shook their head and stood to critically eye the partially completed circle, not meeting Crowley’s stare. “I was… afraid that without that tie to the host I wouldn’t be able to create miracles anymore.” They took a deep breath and made themself explain, “Because I didn’t think I was worthy anymore.”

“I, you can’t mean that,” Crowley protested, and they almost got up to comfort them when Aziraphale nodded sadly, but recalled in time that they were stuck inside the circle until the ceremonies were done. “Aziraphale…”

“I broke my oath,” the reformed angel said matter-of-factly. “Not very nice of me. Not very angelic. I did what I knew was right but was told I was doing wrong. Worse, I _felt_ I was doing wrong, by not following orders, by failing to meet their expectations.” They returned to working on the circle. “It had been long enough since I’d done a miracle without calling on the host _,_ I didn’t trust that I could. Almost felt like I’d never been able to do anything on my own. Likely just how they wanted it. I have to keep reminding myself that they twist everything to their benefit.” They stared down at the circle and admitted, “It’s hard, sometimes. That’s part of why I said what I did.”

“They’re cheats and liars,” Crowley said, lips twisted in a bitter snarl, unable to keep their mind from going back to the seeing the archangels as they ordered Aziraphale to die.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed quietly. “It was knowing you could still create miracles that bolstered me enough to try. But then I exhausted myself, nexusing with and enchanting so much of the obsidian and though I was quite relieved to feel it replenishing, it took far longer than I liked and I realized I wouldn’t be able to rapidly replenish myself the way I’d been able to with holy ground and holy water.”

“But you’re not still worried about that now are you? We’ve found holy ground, at the University Library,” Crowley said. “And can make our own holy water, whenever you need.” They gave the plants a sheepish look. “Got carried away. Didn’t mean to waste it.”

“Nonsense, you didn’t waste it. And no, I’m not concerned the way I was. But it seems to me that at least some of where that power came from was because we already had believers.” They leaned back on their heels and raised an eyebrow at Crowley’s skeptical expression. “No?”

“You, yeah, that I can believe,” Crowley said with a wave of their hand, looking away. “Who the hell thinks good thoughts about a demon?”

“I did.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at the inarticulate noises that escaped the former demon. “Yes, yes, I know, I don’t count. Well, shall we consider Igor? And Maria? Candy? I’m sure there are and have been others.” Their expression went a little smug. “Warlock. And Harriet.”

“I…” Crowley rubbed a hand over their face and shrugged. “I guess. But they didn’t _know_ -”

“They did know, enough. The ward told everyone at Biers that you meant them no harm,” Aziraphale cut in, feeling Crowley’s eyes on them as they continued creating the spell-circle. “And clearly they were right to trust it, and you. I know you never even considered making them forget to bill you, or scaring them for a quick boost. Not that it would have worked, of course. I don’t think there’s much that they fear.”

“Aside from maybe a bad online review,” Crowley mumbled, smirking to recall having _accidentally_ made one arsehole too afraid to leave a bad review after he’d been kicked out for bad behavior. “Okay, maybe,” Crowley conceded. “But you had the witches-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided. “It’s not a competition. But aside from that, _so did you_. Yes! Eunice, _and Agnes!_ cursed your car in a patently ridiculous and harmless fashion to protect you-”

“Us.” Crowley was watching them sidelong, wanting to protest, but also desperately wanting to believe what they were saying.

Aziraphale’s expression went soft. “Us, from being discovered. I’m positive Nanny knew what we both were long before meeting us. Lu-Tze knows her, you’ll recall. And Granny, well, I can’t imagine Nanny not having told her, but Granny being Granny, had to see for herself.”

Crowley shrugged but finally nodded. “Yeah, alright. Maybe.” There was a companionable silence as Aziraphale put the finishing touches on the spell-circle and it was Crowley who broke it by asking, “The Arrangement’s changed things, you noticed? Strengthened things?”

“Yes.” Their personal miracles and blessings had never been so powerful, at least not as far as they could recall. Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of the renewed bond, so old but also new, tying them inextricably together as it gained strength. And of other ties they’d never really discussed except in the most oblique way. They darted a look at Crowley, bundled in the warm tartan robe, sitting trustingly in the center of a spell-circle of Aziraphale’s making but looked away before their feelings got the better of their sense. “I’m ready to start if you are?”

“Oh, er, sure. What do I need to do?”

“Well, firstly, are there any other things that cutting ties with will irreparably alter? You, oh dear, you didn’t _make_ the Bentley-”

“No, no, bought it. Altered it, a lot, over the years but it’s real. Besides, its a nexus. That’s why I didn’t, why I never thought they’d be able to overhear us,” Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale nodded. “It never occurred to me either, but you had to give them permission to communicate with you through it?” A nod. “Which they’d hardly hesitate to take advantage of. Probably best we… ensure that… permission is revoked too,” Aziraphale said, quickly and precisely altering the circle to also reflect the abjuration and abnegation of any lingering ties with both hosts as well as all the items made while under their influence. “So, is there anything you want to exclude from your casting off?”

Crowley stared up at the ceiling with its false sky-lights while they considered. They had made a lot of things in their time, demon and angel both. “’Sonly a problem for things that need a tie to me to work, right? Things I enchanted on purpose won’t break, yeah?”

“If you completed the enchantments properly, the way I taught you,” Aziraphale said with a sniff when Crowley rolled their eyes but nodded. “Then they should be fine.”

“Alright then. Don’t want Agnes’s jacket to just quit working.”

“It was enchanted?” Aziraphale asked, frowning to realized they’d never sensed it. “For what purpose?”

“Oh, eh, nothing big, just… just a little something extra, to you know,” Crowley said dismissively, dancing around the embarrassing truth. “Smooth things over.”

“ _...A charming charm?”_

The stunned disappointment in their voice shocked a splutter out of Crowley. “Jfks no! No, angel, I didn’t mind trick- er, compel anyone into _liking_ me, you know I wouldn’t!”

Aziraphale let out a relieved sigh. “What was I supposed to think hearing you say _that_? That was Lucifer’s- That’s why I was so shocked! But I don’t understand, what is it if not that?”

Crowley rubbed their eyes and looked away, mumbling their answer. “Confidence charm.”

Aziraphale couldn’t stop the disbelieving snort that escaped, only to realize their mistake when Crowley gave them a miserable look. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, my dear, of course you’d want something to help when giving reports downstairs. It only makes sense to take precautions, going into such a fraught situation. Do forgive me.”

Crowley looked back at them, trying to see if Aziraphale really thought they’d only used the charm for that, but the reformed angel was turned away, lighting the first of the ceremonial candles. Crowley cleared their throat and tried to focus. “Yeah, okay. So, what do I do? Sit and think of cutting ties with whatever me-ness I left behind?”

“And your remaining ties to the hosts,” Aziraphale said quietly, lighting the last of the candles. “They would have done more, if you’d been tied tighter. But they wouldn’t have been able to do anything at all, if they didn’t still have some hold on you.”

Crowley scowled down at the floor. “You’re saying I need to unsay them.”

“If you can, if you’re ready.” Aziraphale rolled down their sleeves, not wanting to risk the fabric flapping about and distracting them while they were working. “Even if not, this will ensure that nothing else you’ve created can be used against you.” They flicked off the lights, so that only the candles and a little ambient light from the bedroom illuminated the windowless room. “And I will gladly do this for you as many times as you wish, as often as you wish.” They put all their hopes and fears away as they grounded themself on the eastern side of the circle. “You may stand or sit, however you prefer, just unfurl your wings when you’re ready, and we’ll begin.”

Crowley took a long deep breath, and pushed themself to their feet before looking up at Aziraphale. They were watching serenely, their eyes golden-green and very faintly glowing. Crowley took another deep breath and unfurled their wings, holding them defensively close against their back, and gave Aziraphale a nod.

Aziraphale activated the spell-circle and all the magical ties between Crowley and the uncleansed, un-nexused things they had created visually manifested with a flash, hundreds of glowing multi-hued cords radiating out from the spell-circle towards where the items in question were. “Goodness.”

Crowley let out an incredulous laugh. There were so many lighting up the room it was as bright as day, the only uncluttered space a half meter wide channel between themself and Aziraphale. “I didn’t think there’d be quite this many,” they admitted.

Aziraphale speared them with a look and shook their head, caught between scolding and laughing but a few deep breaths prevented either from escaping. They unfurled their own wings and called upon their power, the golden-bronze flames and scintillating light outshining the strands as they spoke with their celestial voice, beginning the cleansing and casting-off ritual.

Crowley found themself staring enraptured at Aziraphale but forced their eyes closed so as to not be distracted, focusing entirely on cutting ties and disavowing both sides. The casting off was simple enough but when they silently started the formal language of unsaying they found it too stilted and stiff to express all the fury and disgust and hurt and pain accrued through the years and when Aziraphale’s chanting rose to a crescendo Crowley released a single bellowing yell of refutation. “FUCK YOU!”

The gathered power crashed over the former demon, shearing all the binding ties away and Crowley opened their eyes with a gasp as the candles were blown out and the circle went dark. They sucked in another ragged breath and let out a choked sob, bracing their hands on their knees, shaking uncontrollably with reaction at the sudden loss of a burden they hadn’t even realized was there.

Aziraphale caught Crowley before they could fall, sympathetic tears pricking their eyes to feel how desperately their friend was struggling to keep everything contained. “You’re safe Crowley. I’ll keep you safe,” they whispered. “My wings to yours.”

The dam broke and Crowley wasn’t sure how long they stood clinging to Aziraphale, gently cocooned within the protective embrace of their arms and fiery wings, sobbing their heart out into their warm sturdy shoulder, but the cathartic reaction eventually passed and they inhaled their first truly free breath since beyond memory and hugged Aziraphale tightly. “Thanks.”

Aziraphale furled their radiance and wings away, watching worriedly when Crowley shakily withdrew to stand on their own. “You are quite welcome, my dear. How do you feel?”

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Crowley admitted honestly with a fleeting smirk. “It worked, I can feel that it worked. Just… Didn’t realize how much there was. And...” They cleared their throat and shrugged when more tears stung their already sore eyes at Aziraphale’s understanding expression. “You know.”

“I do. Some things are beyond repair,” Aziraphale said lowly. Crowley gave a tired nod of agreement that Aziraphale could barely see in the ambient light coming in from the bedroom. “I’ll leave you to finish the cleansing ritual and then I suggest we get some food to replenish what resting can’t, hmm?” They brought the lights up to the lowest ‘moonlight’ setting and started the water, taking one look at Crowley’s drooping wings and shoulders and miracling up a black waterproof shower chair before leaving.

Crowley wearily hung the robe up where it wouldn’t get wet and tiredly shed their underclothes and stepped into the flow of warm water with a sigh. Crowley gratefully draped themself over the chair, wings splayed out, just sitting there for a long while to let the warmth soothe away the physical aches accumulated over the last few days, exacerbated by the ritual and their reaction to the unsaying.

The only thing the warmth couldn’t do anything for was the familiar ache over their heart, but even that was fading, though Crowley didn’t expect that to ever really go away. Not without a whole different kind of miracle happening.

Crowley was still numbly sitting under the spray twenty minutes later when they heard Aziraphale opening the door into the utility room wedged in between their bathroom and the kitchen. They’d just begun to wonder why when they were inundated by a sudden infusion of energy and they couldn’t keep themself from laughing in understanding. :Cut that out, you barmy bastard!: they scolded laughingly through the bond but smug amusement was Aziraphale’s only answer. Only when they were sure it was enough did Aziraphale stop actively blessing the pipes, bringing the stream of holy water to an end.

Amused and no longer quite as exhausted, Crowley got on with the ritual cleansing, feeling refreshed but oddly out of sorts when they were done. They furled away their wings and toweled dry before wrapping themself in the robe, grateful to find Aziraphale had also set the bedroom lights on their lowest setting.

They took their time shuffling through their clothes, ruefully amused but not surprised to find a few of the really old items hidden in the back had fallen to tatters with the casting off. They tried on a few different things as they considered how much of a change they wanted, and absently ran their fingers through their hair, staring thoughtfully at themself in the mirror. Thought back to Wednesday and what Aziraphale had said and the glowing way in which they’d said it. _Don’t be ridiculous, it doesn’t mean anything. They’re just like that when they’re relaxed and happy. Effusive._ _Bubbly. Adorable._

 _You’re only going to regret it._ Crowley made a disgusted noise at themself. _Like that’s ever stopped me._

∞

“Hey angel.”

“Hell-” Aziraphale looked up from the tome they were working on translating, their amused expression morphing into a heartfelt smile. “-ohh! You grew your hair again.” They didn’t even realize they’d pressed a hand over their heart, staring at the dark auburn shoulder length curls partially restrained by a clip.

“Yeah,” said Crowley lowly, almost regretting their choice, heart somersaulting to see Aziraphale’s expression go soft that way. “Decided I needed a change. Not sure about any of it.” They smirked when Aziraphale blinked in confusion, and gestured to bring their attention down to their change of clothes. They were wearing one of Nenna’s black silk blouses and a slightly looser pair of Mr. Harrison’s black jeans, the woven silver tie taking the place of the snake belt.

“Oh, but, y-you look quite nice, I think?” Aziraphale didn’t realize their mistake until they saw the sneer curl Crowley’s lip. “I mean-”

 _That’s a blow to the ego. What I get for pushing. For hoping._ “Nice huh?”

Aziraphale took refuge in turning back to the tome. “You know I don’t mean it that way. If you’re only going to mock me for giving an honest opinion, I’d prefer you not ask for it.”

“Eh, don’t be like that, angel. It’s just, saying someone looks _nice_ is like, like saying they look like a nanny,” Crowley said, crossing their arms defensively and leaning against the desk, peering at the hand written tome. “Latin?”

“It is.” Aziraphale frowned up at them. “What’s wrong with being a nanny? _You_ were a nanny, for almost three years. And, and I always thought Nenna looked rather fetching.”

“ _Fetching_?” Crowley repeated with amusement. “Makes me think of Rover. Wot’s that mean again?”

Aziraphale shook their head, put off by Crowley’s teasing, but bit back the affronted response before it could escape. _So afraid of them saying no you won’t give them a chance to say yes,_ Rose’s words echoed in the back of their mind. They stared at the tome and answered, “It means… that I think you’re quite loverly, no matter how you adorn yourself. I suppose that makes me too biased to give an objective opinion.” They could feel Crowley’s stare but didn’t look up, making themself work on the translation, trying to pretend they hadn’t just used a word related to ‘lover,’ _out loud, **to Crowley**_. Aziraphale’s only consolation was the knowledge that it was unlikely Crowley would know what loverly meant. _They’ll think it’s like lovely, not that that’s so different. Delightful and lovable... and beloved._

 _Fetching._ It had been a very long time since Aziraphale had paid them a compliment and they’d automatically made a joke of it. _Lovely._ That was what they’d wanted to hear, only now they didn’t know how to deal with it. “Oh. Uh, thanks. Sssweet of you to say so.”

Aziraphale hummed to acknowledge their words but continued to stare down at the page, not really seeing it. Rose’s words continued to echo faintly in the back of their mind and they were quite torn, not wanting to add another burden to Crowley’s shoulders in the middle of everything by making their feelings known. But if they waited, there was no guarantee of a time without burdens. Wouldn’t it be better to know the truth and move on than to endlessly fear it?

 _Alright, that upset them. Shit._ Desperate for something neutral to soothe their friend’s obviously ruffled feathers, they considered and discarded a few different topics before the silent partner’s alias came to mind. Something about it had been nagging at them since the first time they’d read it and it was far more neutral a topic than anything else they’d thought of. “So, that name you gave me, Cara Ocellus,” they said. “What language is that?”

“Oh, it, er, it’s Latin.” Aziraphale looked up from the book but looked away again, worriedly twisting their hands together. “You, you don’t remember..?” _Please don’t remember!_

“Nah, stopped bothering with Latin and ancient Greek ages ago.” Crowley was dismayed by Aziraphale’s nervous reaction. _This was supposed to distract you, not make it worse. Can’t even imagine why- Oh._ “Ssso, what’s it mean?”

 _Beloved Darling._ Aziraphale looked back down at the book and stammered out a truthful and honest but not quite complete answer. “Ah, er, ah ha, little inside joke there. You’ll probably find it terribly droll but Cara means ‘dear’, a-among other things. And Ocellus means ‘little eye’, usually in reference to eyespots but it also brought to mind our code for archangels. I do hope you’ll forgive me for naming you Dear Potato-”

“ _Dear Potato!”_ A fond, relieved laugh escaped from Crowley to feel the truth and affection in their words and tone. “Really? You didn’t!”

The amusement eased a little of their worry and they gave Crowley a sheepish smile. “I did.” They toyed with the ring, gazing fondly at Crowley, at the relaxed, fond, daresay _affectionate_ smile they were wearing and licked their lips nervously. They stared down at the ring, murmuring, “Crowley... what I said earlier? About a gift? Did, did I upset you terribly?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide and they shoved away from the desk to pace away from their line of sight, to keep Aziraphale from seeing the tumult of feelings the question brought up. They picked their words carefully, answering truthfully, “Eh, don’t think twice about it, angel. Not mad, or offended.”

“Oh, good.” Aziraphale felt that concern ease, only for all the other worries to pick up the slack as they considered their next words with great care. _This way_ _I can offer them a gift without ruining things._ “Would, would you permit me to give you a gift, Crowley? To, to show you how much I appreciate and enjoy your presence in my life? As my best friend?” _There, that was in keeping with the spirit in which Crowley gave me the ring. I don’t think they’ll say no. Please don’t say no-_

Crowley stopped pacing to stare at Aziraphale, moving closer when they looked up, eyes full of worry. “Yeah, yesss, sure, but I mean, no obligation! No pressure! You don’t need to earn anything or pay me back, okay? Best friends, no matter what, y’know. You do know that, right?” Aziraphale nodded and Crowley settled against the corner of the desk again, watching sidelong as they continued to run their fingers over the ring, clearly trying to sooth themself. _What are they worried about? Unless… that wasn’t quite the answer they wanted?_ Crowley looked away, crossing their arms and cleared their throat. “I, uh… I’d treasure a gift from you.”

Aziraphale stared up at Crowley in amazement and a little disbelief at the soft heartfelt words. ‘Treasuring’ it implied it would mean significantly more to them than a simple thank you would warrant. _They can’t mean it that way._ _Can they?_ Breathlessly, they asked, “You would? Treasure it?”

“Yeah, angel.” Crowley darted a look at Aziraphale and their heart soared to see the tension going out of their shoulders and the hope so clear in Aziraphale’s eyes. They looked away, fidgeting a little before daring to ask, “‘Sit in exchange? For the ring?” _Say yes, angel._

“Oh…” Aziraphale twisted the ring, completely torn about how to answer, because to tell the whole truth would make it clear it _was_ a gift of equal measure, a courting gift, but it didn’t have to be a courting gift, if Crowley didn’t want that, but trying to say that without falling apart felt utterly impossible. They darted a look at them and were caught in Crowley’s brilliant gaze and part of the truth tumbled out, “Oh Crowley, I-I-I almost lost you, and we could still lose- and your ring has been such a joy and, and a comfort that I want to give that to you too, so you’ll know I’m always here for you. The way you’ve always been there for me.”

Crowley tried to blink away the tears that welled up at Aziraphale’s heartfelt answer. While it wasn’t quite the answer they’d wished for, it was still so far beyond what they’d ever actually thought they’d hear, they had to look away and clear their throat to keep themself from making a fool of themself, wiping at their eyes when the tears escaped in spite of their efforts. “Dammit angel, it’s a good thing I didn’t go for makeup or you’d’ve ruined it,” they scolded half jokingly, waving a hand expectantly and accepting the hastily miracled up tartan handkerchief Aziraphale offered them. “You don’t have to oversell it, you know. I mean, I’m glad you like it and all but it’s just a mood ring. I know it’s nothing special.”

Aziraphale, relieved by their teasing hastened to assure them, “Oh, no, Crowley, that’s not true at all! It’s, it’s quite special to me.” They gulped a little and admitted, “I treasure it.”

Crowley barely caught themself from slipping off the corner of the desk onto the floor and they tried to play it off by pacing around the desk and around to the chair to try to get their composure back. “Ah, d-do you? That’sss, that’s… that’s really sweet of you.”

Aziraphale’s heart soared with hope at Crowley’s pleased reaction. “Is there something you’d like?” they asked, watching sidelong as the former demon circled the desk again before draping an arm over the back of the chair and looking down into Aziraphale’s eyes. “Name it?”

“Oh, Aziraphale… that’s a dangerous offer,” Crowley laughed, not even trying to hide how happy they were. “Hmm, what’ll it be? I think I’ll let you pick. Tiara? Nose ring? Anklet?” they teased, grinning to see the amusement crinkle around Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale pursed their lips and looked down at Crowley’s black shoes, making the former demon grin. They tugged up a jean leg just enough to reveal they’d miracled up a pair of purple socks that matched Agnes’ coat and Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle. “An anklet would just get caught on your clothes I think. Are you sure you wouldn't like a toe ring instead?”

Crowley laughed and shook their head. “Nah, got to be able to show it off, otherwise what’s the point, right?” They held out their hands, showing that they hadn’t put on the big watch. “So what did you decide on? Ring? Bracelet? Earrings?” Aziraphale was shaking their head, not bothering to hide their pleased smile. “Lapel pin? Hair clip? Work with me here.”

“You said I could pick, so you’ll just have to trust me.” Aziraphale beamed up at them, having already thought up a gift that was just the right mix of silly and whimsical and sincere.

“Fine!” Crowley threw up their hands in feigned annoyance and leaned against the the desk again, crossing their arms in a mock sulk. “At least I know you’ve got the good sense to get me something I’ll like.” They looked at them sidelong. “You were spot on with the compass after all.”

“I was, wasn’t I.” Aziraphale grinned at them when they snorted out a laugh and the reformed angel couldn’t wait another moment, cupping their hands together and willing their magic into the form they envisioned.

Crowley blinked in surprise, heart stuttering to realize they were creating the gift entirely from their own magic, the same way Crowley had created the ring. A true gift of equal measure; only an acknowledgement’s difference from being a courting gift.

When it was complete Aziraphale hesitated, but Crowley’s encouraging smirk gave them the courage to stand up and ask, “Close your eyes?”

“Oh, heaven, it’s tartan, isn’t it?” Crowley teased, but they quickly complied, curious to feel Aziraphale carefully brushing their hair away from their neck. “Big tartan chandelier earrings, yeah?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale chuckled, carefully clasping the black and purple silk cord around Crowley’s neck with hands that shook only a little. “With a matching tam.” Crowley laughed and they hesitated again, holding the silver pendant in their hand before very carefully letting it rest in the center of Crowley’s chest. “You can open your eyes now,” they said, hastily sitting back down when their knees went a little wobbly in reaction to what they’d just done.

Crowley had felt the pendant being set against their shirt and looked down curiously, lifting up the silver sphere with a growing smile when they saw the subtle carving that made it look like a globe. “Angel…” They shook it, expecting it to chime like other pendants of the same style, but it instead began playing Queen’s ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and Crowley burst out into delighted laughter.

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but ask, worrying on the ring.

“Yes!” Crowley spluttered for a moment, shaking the pendant again and grinning when it went silent. “You brilliant bastard. It’s perfect.”

Aziraphale let out a relieved breath, beaming at them when they shook it again and a different song started playing, making them laugh again. “It’ll play any Queen song you like.”

Crowley could not stop grinning, enjoying the feel of the weight and texture of the carved silver against their hand. “How long did you spend thinking this up?” they demanded.

“Oh, not terribly long at all,” Aziraphale said with a shrug, having begun daydreaming about giving them a gift of equal measure the night after Crowley had given them the ring. “I spent far longer on, on the-” they stammered, realizing what they saying and altered it so it wasn’t quite so obvious what they’d meant. “On creating the spells for the compasses.”

Crowley slowly looked up from the little silver globe and took in Aziraphale’s pale nervous expression. And it struck them like a bolt from the blue- the compasses, the bittersweetly perfect courting gifts that never were, chosen and enchanted so soon after agreeing to thwart the Great Plan. _The compasses they said I didn’t lie about when I told Karen they were courting gifts._ “Aziraphale-”

Aziraphale jumped a little, shaken from their reverie and remembered, “Oh, uh, right, before I forget. W-would you share this with me, Crowley?”

That derailed Crowley’s thoughts for a second. They cleared their throat and looked down at the little globe and nodded. “’Course, angel.” They clasped it in their hand, taking only a moment to infuse it with their auras before closing the distance to the chair and leaning on the back again so that the pendant swung free. They watched Aziraphale infuse it before leaning closer and whispering, “Can I give you something now?”

“Oh, Crowley, that’s hardly necessary-”

“A kiss?”

Aziraphale’s habitual deflection melted into a flustered but pleased smile. “Oh. I’d like that very much.” They cupped Crowley’s cheek, enjoying the brief sweet kiss and leaning back in the chair with a happy sigh when they pulled away. “What was that for?”

“Just wanted to,” Crowley shrugged, looking away as they searched for a way to ask about the compasses. “Angel…” _No. Let it rest. It’s so good right now, just enjoy it for once._ “You mentioned something about food, yeah?”

Aziraphale smiled and pushed themself up from the chair. “Indeed I did. Well and past time, I think. Where would you like to go?” they asked, accepting help with their coat and returning the favor.

“Let’s just do the café,” Crowley decided, both of them stepping around the trap without a thought. “We’ll be at Biers in a few hours anyway.” They slid a playful look Aziraphale’s way. “With witches and wizards and werewolves-”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale finished with a beaming smile.


	41. Calling Collect From Beyon The Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hex finds a way to get in contact with Crowley and Aziraphale, but it's not very direct.

_Earlier..._

Friday night, after parting ways with everyone, Agnes finally got a callback that she and her band had been waiting for; they had landed a very sweet gig at a club they’d been trying to get into for months. Saturday had been their first time performing there and they had killed it, doing two sets with two encores and rounding out the evening with promising talk with the owner about performing there regularly. Agnes had negotiated with her without any sign of how terrified she was of blowing it and afterward wondered inwardly if Crowley hadn’t added a little magical something to the jacket, not that she was about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Riding the high of success well into the night, she’d waved to her still celebrating bandmates and had left with Anathema and Newt to get a very late dinner. The three of them had claimed a table out in a so called ‘beer garden’, nothing more than a section of sidewalk partitioned off by potted plants and flimsy wooden screens. They spent hours nursing their drinks and chatting and sharing stories, outlasting most of the other patrons, and they were still at it when Anathema noticed an odd youngish looking person staring at them from across the street, dressed in dark raggedy clothes and wearing an odd pointy hairstyle. “We’ve got a watcher,” she said quietly, giving a tiny nod in their direction.

Agnes pulled out her phone, startled to see it was almost 1 in the morning, and used the camera to look over her shoulder, zooming in on the person and taking a picture.

“I don’t suppose you know them from somewhere?” Newt asked her with a rapidly fading hopefulness. He let out a resigned sigh when she shook her head. “I don’t recognize them either.” He looked back at Anathema, suddenly very nervous when he saw her expression. “Oh no.”

When Agnes looked at what her phone had captured, the image was blurred, and it kept being blurred no matter how many times she tried. All she could make out were eyes that gleamed red like she’d used her flash and black hair like a pair of jagged horns but everything else was an amorphous blob like it was moving at high speed. She deleted all of the unnerving pictures and quickly put her phone away.

“I don’t think that’s a human,” said Anathema lowly, unsure what to make of the watcher’s lack of visible aura except that it gave her the creeps in way Adam hadn’t. “And I don’t think they’re looking at us,” she whispered to Newt. “They’re staring at Agnes.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” said Agnes. She didn’t want to scare Newt or Anathema, but she was more than a little perturbed but as eldest witch, she needed to keep a cool head. “I’m thinking that’s one of our _friends’_ former coworkers.”

Newt made a face and slouched down on his chair, watching the watcher from the corner of his eye. “Why do you think they’re here though?”

“Well,” said Agnes, pointedly tugging on the lapels on her jacket, on _Crowley’s_ former jacket. “I bet they’re trying to find our friend in the shades.”

“Should we call them?” Anathema whispered worriedly.

Agnes shrugged, and for the first time since trading her coat for Crowley’s very stylish jacket, actually regretted her lack of pockets because it didn’t give her nearly as much to work with when making a shamble. At least she and Nanny Ogg had discovered a work around for needing to carry around a live bug or fertilized egg.

Digging out what she had, she came up with an extra long usb charging cord, some candies with holes in the center, a book of matches she didn’t remember getting, a handkerchief from Aziraphale, and Crowley’s sunglasses. “Anything in your pockets?” she murmured, and dipped the handkerchief in the dregs of her beer, still mostly focused on the odd tangle of things and how best to use them. Shortly she had a couple of hair ties and a keychain flashlight from Anathema and Granny’s not-so-little bronze figure from Newt. _T_ _h_ _at’ll_ _help_ , she thought as the shamble came together.

“Er, what is it?”

“It’s called a shamble. It’d work better if I had something more alive,” Agnes admitted and pulled her hands apart. They all stared in consternation of what she’d created. There was something with how the cord and hair ties tangled tightly around the matches and the dark sunglasses in combination with the beery white handkerchief slipping oddly though a lifesaver and the ties in a way that defied gravity, that told her that something had been or was still going on with them. One of the drawbacks of using beer, it made things too blurry to discern past from present from future.

She let out a sigh, shifting her grip a little, expecting the shamble to fall apart but instead the fascinus prodded the little flashlight, illuminating the handkerchief brightly in the comparative dimness of the patio. A purple bar moth landed on the beery cloth and the shamble shifted impossibly under its own power. The movement of the glowing handkerchief somehow freed the glasses, the arms of which both snapped open, scaring off the moth and flipping the glasses and the handkerchief out of the tangle entirely. The moth landed on the beery fascinus dangling from a hair tie, which spun around to point accusingly at the watcher. About then the matchbook began to smolder and the moth fluttered away when Agnes dropped the whole thing. Newt quickly put his empty glass over the sputtering flames, snuffing them out.

They all darted looks to where the watcher had been, but they had slipped away in the chaos. “Oh, good,” said Newt with a relieved sigh.

“So what did that do exactly?” Anathema asked Agnes, her expression showing that she didn’t think the danger was past. “It had an aura of sorts, don’t know how to explain it.”

Agnes gave her a little nod of agreement, eyebrows winging upwards in surprise. “It did? That’s interesting. Shambles are a bit like a personal weather vane, reacting in ways when there’s power about that the assembler can read. With that said, I think our friends have problems of their own to deal with right now.” Agnes blotted the handkerchief dry, mostly, and wiped down the sunglasses and everything else. “I think we can wait until we see them to tell them about this,” she said lowly. “But I’d best be on the lookout, just in case they come back.”

Newt grimaced, accepting back the little fascinus. “What do you want to do? I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you alone? But we can’t sit here all night?”

Agnes put a brave face on it. “Well I, uh, should let you get some sleep anyway. My flat’s just a few blocks this way, we can talk on the phone while I walk. If anything happens you can get help.”

“Get help from who?” Anathema asked, frowning out at the mostly deserted street. A few other people were meandering their way home but it felt a long way away from any sort of main thoroughfare where there could be safety in numbers.

Agnes shrugged stiffly, toying with the still damp handkerchief. “Go to Biers or call Esk, either one should have more than enough power to deal with a single demon.”

“Oh, you, you really think they’re..?” Newt asked. “Can’t you..?”

Agnes nodded but shook her head. “The flashy stuff isn’t my strong suit,” she admitted, putting the rest of her things back, and Newt picked up the singed book of matches but dropped it with a yelp when he read the logo printed on it. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, er, nothing. I just don’t like this,” Newt said, embarrassed by his reaction to reading ‘The Hellfire Pub’ on the logo.

Anathema shook her head and put a hand on Agnes’ arm. “I don’t think you should be alone. Would you mind if we stayed with you?”

Agnes opened her mouth but closed it again. _There’s confidence and then they’re just plain fool_ _i_ _shness._ “Er, alright. I didn’t really want to be alone to be honest,” she admitted. “I’m super glad you two were here with me.”

“Oh, er, really?” Newt asked, nervously but protectively walking on one side of Agnes while Anathema took the other. “I, uh, I can’t _do_ anything, though?”

“You’re here,” Agnes said, giving his shoulder a comforting pat. “That’s pretty damn brave in my book. And it’s been great having people to talk with about…” She waved her hand to take in the last few weeks and beyond. “Everything.”

Anathema laughed, nodding in agreement. “I’m glad we’ve been here too. My Mom, she, well, none of my family gets it. They told me every day of my life that this was my purpose; and now it’s over and they’re surprised I’m feeling lost. I haven’t told any of them about any of you or _them_. No one else has much in the way of powers so it seems like it’d just make them worry?”

“Yeah.” Agnes shrugged. “And what’s the rush? It’s been what, two weeks since the world didn’t end? I think working on stopping the world from ending for the entirety of your life entitles you to a nice long vacation before you start worrying about the rest of your life.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Anathema gave Agnes a smile. “I would like to see more of London, and I’m looking forward to learning more.”

“I’m looking forward to not having to carry around a whole horseshoe, among other things,” Newt grumbled, making them laugh.

They made it to Agnes’ flat without any sign of their watcher, which was when a very tiny portion of hell broke loose.

**∞**

Agnes was feeling pretty damn good for being drunk in the wee hours on a Sunday morning, in spite of the fact she’d been possessed by a demon. Or, more accurately, because _she’d_ taken possession of a demon and was, with gleeful gusto, driving it insane.

Part of why she felt so good was the security of the hastily blessed bottle of water on the nightstand and knowing that Anathema and Newt were camped out on the floor of her small sparsely furnished flat, to ensure the demon didn’t get any ideas about steering Agnes’ body around when she fell asleep. And while her voices mentally sang non-stop to keep the demon occupied, her third thoughts wandered back to the possession.

It was mostly a blur - opening the locked door, stepping in, Anathema and Newt both yelling a warning but too late as the figure lurched out of the shadows and had leapt, somehow, into Agnes’s mind.

And that’s when things went very wrong for the demon, because usually what let them take over was a person dealing with the confusion of suddenly being of two minds - but that had been everyday life for Agnes when she was younger. She’d long ago stopped rejecting her not nice inner voice as being something _other_ than herself. Had stopped trying to be the nice fat girl who never said boo to people being mean.

So when that creepy third voice had started whispering, her inner and outer voices had instinctively drowned it out with singing.

They’d called Nanny Ogg then, who had cackled to hear how Agnes was treating her uninvited guest and told them how to bless the water and that drinking it would likely banish the demon if push came to shove. Agnes had been reluctant to be rid of her guest quite so quickly however, especially when there was a chance themselves could extract some useful information.

So Agnes had gotten a little drunk, to ensure she slept soundly, and with Anathema and Newt camped out on the inflatable mattress that had been her bed until just recently, she’d gone to bed and begun laying siege. After all, your voice isn’t constrained by breath inside of your head, and having had two voices for most of her life, it wasn’t a wide leap of the imagination to populate an entire piecemeal choir; each one singing whatever bits and bobs she could remember of every song and jingle she’d ever heard - and with all the time she’d spent with Nanny Ogg, she’d certainly heard some doozies.

Pop song after advert jingle after aria, she kept going even as her eyes fluttered shut and she fell into dreams of past performances. Nanny and Granny were there, bracketing the odd little shadowy form cowering in the front row, and they both nodded encouragingly to Agnes - well, Granny nodded. Nanny stood up and started singing along so that the cowering figure curled up with its hands over its ears in desperation. There might have been smoke curling between its fingers.

Until suddenly it wasn’t. The figure twitched and dropped its hands, looking around the dream curiously, no longer overwhelmed by the fully orchestrated choral performance of “A Hedgehog Can Never Be Buggered At All” with special guest singer, Nanny Ogg.

Agnes’s first, second, and third thoughts all watched the figure with interest and let the dream settle into silence. Between one blink and the next it vanished and she woke to the noise of the figure crashing down onto the floor beside her bed. She quickly got up, still fully dressed aside from her boots, and grabbed the bottle of water, staring down at the figure. It was… not at all as intimidating as it had seemed staring out of the darkness the night before.

The demon clumsily pushed themself up from their sprawl into an awkward sitting position, unfamiliar with how their limbs worked and they fluttered ridiculously long spidery lashes at her and looked around the room curiously before speaking. “I don’t understand?” The demon blinked, surprised by the sound of their own voice. “Why do you have Crowley’s jacket? Did something happen to Crowley?”

“See, you could have tried asking me that-” She peered at her clock, surprised to see it was ten in the morning. “-Eight hours ago. But after being possessed I’m not interested in being nice anymore.” She held up the open water bottle and shook it threateningly, her thumb covering the opening. “So, who are you, and why the hell are you looking for Crowley?”

The Legion’s semi-corporeal form automatically scurried backwards at the implicit threat of holy water, wedging itself into the corner and beginning to climb up the wall. “I’m Hex.” Hex took better control of the body before it could do anything more to upset the wary human, setting the feet on the floor but clinging still to the wall for support. “I thought they were exaggerating how overwhelming it was to be corporeal,” Hex murmured under their breath, staring down at the strangely familiar hands and shivering. “I’m looking for Crowley because… I have a message for them.”

“Then why were you following Agnes?” Newt asked. “You jumped in her head!”

Hex looked up from staring at the Legion’s hands, noticing the other two humans who were crowded in the doorway, more bottles of holy water at the ready. “Please don’t discorporate this body, I don’t know what it will do to me! It wasn’t me who tried to possess, er Agnes? I possessed the Legion who’d possessed Agnes, to have form in this world so I could find Crowley. It was the only way I could think of to talk with my friend.”

“Prove it,” said Agnes distrustfully. “Tell us something about them only a real friend would know.”

Hex looked between the three of them, at a loss, unnerving them a little when the Legion’s eyes didn’t blink at the same time, a sure sign to Hex that it was getting very close to breaking. “Uh, Crowley, er, they, well to be honest they stopped coming into the Library and talking with me after the antichrist was born. I was rather hurt until Aziraphale explained that they were working together to thwart the Great Plan. I believe Crowley was trying to protect me from getting in trouble-”

“You know Aziraphale? And work in a Library?” Newt asked, watching Anathema.

She was staring into space at the demon’s aura, intrigued because there _was_ an aura where there’d been none earlier. It wasn’t exactly human, but it wasn’t like the four riders and as far as she could tell, seemed to be telling the truth.

“I am, was, tending the Library of the Hosts, among other things, for Aziraphale who was, well, technically still is, the Librarian.” Hex canted their head a little too far and hastily righted it when they all cringed, watching their expressions as they looked between themselves, clearly wondering if they could risk trusting a demon.

The one who hadn’t spoken shook her head and shrugged, setting aside her bottle of water but keeping it still within reach. “I understand not trusting me, especially after being possessed,” said Hex. “When I discovered what Lord Vassenego was planning I had to try to stop the Legions from succeeding. I didn’t know if this would work,” Hex admitted, looking down at the borrowed form they’d extended their auras into. “I’ve never tried to use one of these on earth before.”

“Who’s this Lord?” Anathema asked.

“A Lord of Hell, currently on the Dark Council, that’s er, the leaders of Hell under Satan. The orders I overrode were for the Legions to seek out anything linked to Crowley in some way but thankfully this was the only one that had succeeded. You, er, it didn’t harm you, did it?” Hex asked worriedly, startled then relieved when Agnes just laughed.

“No, not hurt. Honestly, I was well on my way to driving it out I think, before you hacked in,” she said, setting down her holy water. “At least it looked pretty miserable listening to me and Nanny Ogg singing the Hedgehog song.” She grinned at Anathema’s smothered laugh. “Not sure why it didn’t jump out after the first round to be honest.”

Hex answered, “Oh, well, Legions can’t think for themselves, they can only do what they’re told, you see. They’re just constructs; no soul, no intelligence, not alive in any sense. It was told to possess whoever had what it was looking for, so it did, and would’ve stayed until it finished the mission or was destroyed.”

“Wait, if it’s not alive, why’d it react to off key singing?” Agnes asked.

“Oh, they’re really quite fragile.” Another moment of staring at those hands before looking back up. “They weren’t ever meant to do more than work at sorting and retrieving things, but the Councils keep demanding more and more while refusing to let the elementals build something properly to meet their needs. So instead they’re forced to layer more and more spells over the original matrices and hope for the best. The results are… haphazard to say the least. The littlest thing will set them off and they’re programmed to display distress when close to failure.”

Newt, still holding on to his bottle of water, leaned into the room a little and asked, “So you’re just, like, piloting this one around?”

“I am,” said Hex. “Please, will you contact Crowley or Aziraphale? I am very concerned for their well being and I don’t know how long this form will continue to function.”

Agnes looked at Newt and Anathema, who shrugged in deference, and decided. “I think we need to know more before we risk that.”

“What else do you wish to know?” Hex asked, trying to lower themself onto the floor to sit only to realize they were floating upwards instead, amused and dismayed at how complicated everything was. And they had scoffed at Aziraphale and Crowley’s complaints about gravity. At least under gravity’s influence they didn’t have to concentrate on keeping on a single plane! The Legion/naires were able to walk _through_ things, which was proving to be an issue.

“Tell us more about your friendship,” Agnes answered, trying not to laugh as they flailed their hands a little before clinging to the wall and pulling themself back down onto the floor. “You’re really not used to it, are you?”

“Oh, no very much not,” Hex agreed, leaning against the wall. “I think a fully corporeal form would be easier to work with. Partial corporeality might be wonderful for Legionnaires and Legions but I have to keep trying to not pass through things. Er, at least I don’t think you typically have the ability to walk through walls-”

They all chuckled. “Not generally, no,” Anathema said. “So, have you known them long?”

Hex found themself nodding, wondering where they had learned the behavior from and almost fell through the wall while distracted, just barely catching themself. “Time passes differently, you understand, but I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know them both.”

“Oh. Ooh, you’re-” Newt pointed to the Legion’s arm, which was beginning to smolder and flake away.

“I don’t think this form will last very much longer with me inside of it,” Hex said and pressed their other hand over the spot, pouring power into it, willing the body back together around the missing piece, but that would only work as long as there was enough of a body to fix. “Please tell Crowley to cast off their old creations so Vassenego can’t use them as a focus. There’s so much more I want to tell them but it will have to wait.”

“Alright. I think that’s enough proof, yeah?” Anathema and Newt both nodded and Agnes grabbed her phone. She hesitated for a second before pulling up Crowley’s number and pressing the dialer, putting the phone on speaker.

They all jumped when it connected and Crowley’s voice came through, the roar of the Bentley in the background. “Hey, Agnes. Everything alright?”

“Uh, maybe? Had a little run in with someone looking for you last night-”

“Shit, you okay?” There was a squeal of tyres and the relative quiet when Crowley turned the car off.

“We can come help you-” Aziraphale offered.

“No no, I’m fine, really, but, um, they’re not? They say their name’s Hex and that they’re friends with both of you? And something about, er-?” She looked to Hex.

“Lord Vassenego,” they answered.

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the call, and when Crowley spoke, it was in a tone of voice that gave them all shivers. “I see. Agnes, put your phone down in the middle of the floor and back away from it.”

Agnes did as told, hurrying out of the bedroom to stand between Newt and Anathema. They all gasped in shock as sparks shot out the the speaker and suddenly Aziraphale and Crowley were standing in the middle of her bedroom, faces thunderous.

Aziraphale gestured and there was suddenly a plastic bucket in their hands.

Agnes, Anathema and Newt all cried, “Wait!”

“That’sss a Legion!” hissed Crowley. “A minion of hell, sent by Vassenego-”

“Not at the moment!” Hex said worriedly, holding up their hands placatingly and beginning to float slowly towards the ceiling again. In a rush they explained, “Lord Vassenego sent out a gross of Legions last night to seek out items with Crowley’s essence. When I saw this one had possessed someone I overrode the controls and er, possessed it. Agnes already had it close to dissipating by then.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look and Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “How do we know you’re really Hex?”

“I… I don’t know,” they admitted. “Raphael said you’d have no reason to believe a Legion but Andras said we didn’t have any other way-”

“Raphael and Andras are really there?” Crowley asked, keeping a wary and somewhat amused eye on them, taking a little comfort in how close it was to disintegrating. They weren’t lying to say Agnes had somehow brought it to the edge of destruction. Perhaps they weren’t lying about the rest. Impossible to sense with whoever it was using the Legion as an elaborate puppet. And it would be beyond foolish to try to touch outer auras with what was likely a trap.

Hex nodded. “We’ve been trying to get in contact with you and the elementals but they’ve closed everything off. I know the archangels are planning something, but they haven’t been using Legionnaires for whatever it is, so I haven’t any more information than that. If not for Vassenego’s use of the Legions, I wouldn’t have discovered you were in danger.”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look. “Gabriel, Michael, and Sandalphon were at the shop yesterday,” said Crowley. “Tried to get Aziraphale to make a new oath.”

“Oh no!” cried the humans and Hex, who crashed to the ground and tried to stand but staggered a little, pressing a hand to their crumbling leg, willing it back together as best they could. “They must have discovered our communication. I’m so sorry, Aziraphale!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both relaxed at their heartfelt apology. There’d never been a demon or angel who could feign that sort of sincerity. “Okay, now I believe you’re Hex.”

“As do I,” Aziraphale agreed and the four of them all let out sighs of relief when they vanished the bucket. “It wasn’t actually holy water,” the reformed angel admitted.

“Oh. The oath, they didn’t- oh thank g-goodness,” Hex said when Aziraphale shook their head. Behind them the humans also relaxed.

“So how did you manage this?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing to the Legion’s crumbling form as it started floating again, miracling up a chair and waving Hex down onto the chair.

“Through the obelisk,” Hex admitted, grateful to have something solid to anchor themself to, hooking their feet around the chair’s legs and holding on to the arms. “It’s part of the helper’s spell, but I never used it to come to earth, wasn’t any need. But I needed to try to stop Vassenego’s plan and I hoped…”

“Crowley should be safe from that sort of manipulation now,” Aziraphale said. “We saw to casting off those ties this morning.” The reformed angel gave Crowley a sharp little chiding look that the former demon sniffed at.

Crowley shrugged at Hex’s worried look, toying with the pendant. “Ugh, not you too! I know, alright? But thanks. For everything.” They had to take a moment to clear their throat before telling them, “Anyway, you should know Cerium and the elementals are trying to find a way to help us help you.”

“Have you found where the Garden was banished to?” Hex wilted with disappointment when they both shook their heads. “Raphael doesn’t know where it is either. It was vanished by the Council without any location in mind. They fear it may be beyond our reach after so long, untethered. Perhaps it’s truly gone.”

Aziraphale tried to reassure them, “No, no, I know the Garden still exists. I’m quite sure we’ll be able to triangulate its location if… well, we’ll need an object that’s from the Garden. The more the better.”

“You do?” Hex stared at Aziraphale in confusion. “That’s… good? But how will we locate an item from the Garden when we can’t find the Garden itself?”

“We think Aziraphale’s sword will work,” Crowley answered. “The issue is getting to it.”

“But, oh... it’s in the Vault of Heaven,” said Hex. “I see. Is that what Cerium..? Ah. Well, what I didn’t dare mention previously was that there _might_ be a way for you to get into, and maybe the others _out_ of, the Library.” Hex looked between them, nodding when Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “I wasn’t sure you remembered-”

“L-space! That would give us access to the obelisk! That would likely be better than the sword, but-” Their expression fell. “You wouldn’t be able to come with us, would you?”

“No,” Hex agreed. “But I’m not concerned for myself at this juncture. Once the hosts break through it will be far worse for the others than for me.”

“Wait, there’s more than just Raphael and Andras?” Crowley asked.

“Oh yes, though I’m not actually sure how many. All told, perhaps close to a thousand angels and demons together?” said Hex, shocking them silent. “At first I thought nothing of it as there are always a few who spend their rests in the Library. But then the horn was sounded and the first of the Ancient Ones arrived.”

“Ancient Ones?” blurted Newt, exchanging very worried looks with Anathema and Agnes.

“Celestials from the early days,” Aziraphale explained. “From what I can recall reading, most of them went into retirement long before we were sent to the Garden.”

Crowley nodded. “Heard stories about them. Eldritch horrors, every one of them. At least according to the others.” They added with a bitter smirk, “Bet Heaven was pleased.”

“Heaven doesn’t want them,” Hex corrected. “Their oaths weren’t to obey the Council, you see. But they won’t release them. So the Ancients also congregated with us. And then Raphael and Andras took refuge with us and when the appeals were denied, I closed the Library.”

“I don’t… I don’t know how we can help that many? I dunno how we can help three-” Crowley scowled at the Legion’s shoulder when it began to smolder and the wisp of smoke faded in embarrassment. “-let alone a _thousand._ We’d have to make multiple trips, and-”

“Raphael and Andras,” Aziraphale murmured thoughtfully, staring unseeing at nothing, thoughts racing. “Are they, have they been of help? Do you think they’d be willing to do more?”

Hex nodded. “They and the Ancient Ones have been of great help. We wouldn’t have been able to hold out without them.”

Aziraphale came to a decision and miracled up paper and a fountain pen from their desk and began quickly and precisely diagramming a spell-circle.

After a moment Crowley recognized what Aziraphale was working on. “The casting off?” They rested their hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and murmured, “What good will that do, angel?”

“I thought it was just an honorarium, that Raphael’s name is still listed as part of the Council of Heaven, but now I realize it’s more complicated than that,” Aziraphale said, still drawing. “Do you remember if Andras is still listed as part of the Dark Council?”

Crowley blinked, trying to follow where Aziraphale’s thoughts were going. “Uh, yeah, actually, I think so. They made another seat instead of taking Andras off. Why?”

“Don’t you see? Being summoned by the horn proves you were right, that they’re still bound to the hosts. But they’re also still part of the _Councils!_ That gives them the authority to release their subordinates from their bonds,” Aziraphale told Hex and Crowley with a beaming grin.

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Forgot about that. They probably don’t even know they can.”

Aziraphale quickly read over the directions they’d written out, nodding with satisfaction before carefully rolling the paper up. “Now they should be able to use a single large circle for all willing, but they can use smaller circles if they’re concerned about it taking too much power. I’ve made notes on how to best construct it, since they’ll have to do it without the help of anyone from inside the circle. I do believe the rotunda is the ideal location, as it has superb shields.” There were tears in Aziraphale’s eyes as they offered it to Hex. “…I don’t know if it will be enough to free you but I don’t think it will hurt to try.”

Hex stared at them and then down at the paper in stunned silence before very carefully accepting it. “Do you really think it will work for the others?”

“As long as Raphael and Andras are willing to risk it, yes.” Aziraphale let out a sigh. “It is a terrible risk however. It will take a great deal of power, to free so many, no matter how they go about doing it. And there is a high likelihood that this will alert the hosts of their existence and they will become targets of the hosts’ wrath, as we were,” Aziraphale told Hex quietly. “It is a lot to ask of them. Don’t judge them too harshly if they decline.”

Hex looked up from the paper. “Thank you Aziraphale.”

“You’re quite welcome. Stay safe my friend.”

Crowley nodded when Hex looked their way. “We won’t give up. Tell them that?”

“I will.” Hex turned and gave the watching humans a small bow. “Thank you all for your kindness. And for the concert.” Hex grinned at their startled laughter and vanished.

Aziraphale wilted when Hex was gone, giving Agnes a concerned look. “Are you alright my dear?”

“Must’ve been awful-”

“It wasn’t that bad actually,” Agnes said, smiling at their surprised expressions. “We called Nanny and she told us to bless some water and to drink it to get rid of it.”

“Why didn’t you?” Aziraphale asked, about to send the chair back from where it’d come from but hesitated upon noticing how empty the flat was. A subtle flick of fingers had the pale tartan upholstery darkening to match the black and purple quilt covering the ancient couch.

“Oh, well.” Agnes looked at Anathema and Newt and explained, “We thought you might want a chance to question it? And it’s not like the, er, Legion, ever had a chance to take me over. It didn’t know how to cope with me to be honest.” She grinned widely. “I kept it distracted by singing, you know, in my head? Apparently, Legions are quite susceptible to Nanny’s singing, at least in my dream it was. Once she started the Hedgehog song it was smoking from the ears and that’s when Hex took over.”

Crowley snorted in amusement, scooping up Agnes’ phone and repairing it with a wave of their hand. Aziraphale didn’t quite have the hang of traveling the phone system yet. “Good to know. Maybe we should all carry recordings of her performances.”

Agnes laughed and accepted her phone back, relieved that it seemed unharmed, but frowned with concern to realize how tired they both looked. “Are _you_ okay? What happened?”

Aziraphale sighed and shook their head. “We had a very busy day yesterday. As Crowley said, we had three archangels come to the bookshop and attempt to trick me into giving them the shop, and to binding myself to the host again. Crowley and Esk and my friend Rose ensured it didn’t happen. And then last night…” Aziraphale gave Crowley a pointed look.

The former demon made a face. “My own stupidity came back and bit me in the arse, that’s all. And, er, nearly bit you too. Sssorry ‘bout that.”

“They didn’t have a chance to hurt me,” Agnes quickly reassured them. “And Anathema and Newt kept watch so I couldn’t wander off.”

“It never bothered us,” said Anathema, looking to Newt when Crowley looked their way.

Newt nodded, finally setting down his bottle of holy water. “We’re alright. Only, maybe a little hungry?”

“We were just on our way to have some brunch, now that you mention it,” said Aziraphale, reading Crowley’s body language and expression easily enough. “There’s a lovely little café near my shop, unless there’s someplace you’d rather..?”

“That sounds pretty nice,” Anathema agreed, Agnes and Newt nodding in agreement.

“Excellent. How far are we? Could you look it up on your clever little mobile? Should we call for a ride? Is it supposed to rain today?” said Aziraphale, ushering Anathema and Newt outside before they even realized what was going on.

Agnes lifted her eyebrows at the maneuver and sat in Aziraphale’s miracled chair to pull her boots on. “Oookay. What’s up?”

“I owe you,” Crowley blurted, pulling off their glasses. “Way more than an apology. You-”

“Whatever,” Agnes said with a dismissive shake of her head. “We learned something useful about Legions and that even immortals do dumbass things. So what’s with the jacket?” She grinned at Crowley’s startled expression. “I negotiated with the manager of a high end club last night without even breaking a sweat. So..?”

“Confidence charm,” Crowley admitted, unconsciously clasping the pendant.

“It’s really subtle. Did you put it on just for me?” she asked, noticing the antiqued silver charm and the way they were using it as a fidget, the way Aziraphale did with their ring.

Crowley snorted. “Er, no, been using one for ages. Couldn’t, er, couldn’t let anything slip, couldn’t show any hesitation, any weakness.” They let out a sigh. “Didn’t think you’d mind my leaving it?” She shook her head. “Agnes-”

“I could use another of these chairs,” Agnes answered, grinning when Crowley made a frustrated noise. “What? I thought you _owed me_.” She walked over to where the jacket was hanging but didn’t put it on just yet, watching them for a moment. “We knew we’d be targeted when we made the Arrangement.”

Crowley waved that away. “Yeah, but this was only because I wasn’t careful enough. If I’d just cleansed the jacket before trading it, you never would have been a target. That’s on me.”

Agnes nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. But sounds like you’ve learned your lesson about that now, huh?” She grinned when Crowley let out a snort at her understatement. “So, since you feel you owe me, I’m asking for a match to the surprisingly goth, very comfy chair Aziraphale made. Better than anything I could buy I imagine?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed as they looked her over, relaxing to see she was serious, and slid their glasses back on. “At least a rug too? And fix the couch to match? I mean, you were _possessed_ , how’s one chair make up for that?”

Agnes looked at her ragged saggy old hand-me-down couch and gave in to temptation. “Alright. Then you drop it.”

“Done.” Crowley snapped their fingers, miracling up a matching chair and an elaborately patterned carpet, the other chair appearing to flank the suddenly changed couch that looked nothing like the one she’d had.

She just shook her head at Crowley’s pleased smirk, shrugging on the jacket and waving for them to precede her from the flat and down the stairs. “Ready?”

“I called a cab,” Anathema told them. “We’re all a little run down from the late night.” She slid a look at Aziraphale, who radiated innocence at Crowley’s scowl. “Aziraphale thought you’d want to be dropped off by your car?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Crowley nodded, circling around to stand beside the reformed angel. “I’m _fine,_ ” they grumbled, hands in pockets as they briefly leaned their shoulder against Aziraphale’s, sticking out their elbow in invitation.

“Of course you are, dear,” said Aziraphale, blue eyes full of fond mischief as they looped their arm through Crowley’s. “But you know, someone my age… and with a dodgy spleen too.”

The former demon let out a groaning laugh, the humans all giving them quizzical looks. “Bastard. You brought it up, you get to explain.” And much to everyone’s amusement, Aziraphale gleefully did.


	42. Glad Discoveries and Grimm Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madam Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell go to pay a visit to the bookshop and make a startling discovery on the way.

Shadwell was watching the ground as he walked, his hand gently enfolded with Marjorie’s, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they dodged other pedestrians on the busy Soho sidewalks. It wasn’t that he had to watch the ground. It was just easier to keep his eyes down so he wouldn’t have to see the pitying looks people were surely giving Marjorie for being seen with the likes of him. He’d stopped wearing the witch-finder’s greatcoat, and had begun taking pains to dress better, and his clothes didn’t hang on him the way they had now that he was getting regular meals every day, but still, he wasn’t anything to boast about.

Marjorie though, her luck had turned around. Business was way up now that word had gotten round about the possession but she’d explained to him that most of what she did wasn’t witchery at all, but telling people what they wanted to hear. Giving them a good show. He had a feeling that wasn’t very different from what she’d been doing with her gentlemen, only she _usually_ wore more clothes as a medium. (But not always. Some of the gentlemen had had very specific tastes.)

He was still getting used to not going out and doing the witch-finder soapboxing every day, so to keep busy he did his best to keep their flats tidy, spending his time reading and puttering around his own place when Marjorie was busy with her ghost-raising. They been mostly spending the days together at her flat when she wasn’t working but last night they’d slept at his, being his bed was large enough for the both of them to sleep comfortably. Together.

He felt his face get hot at that thought and darted a look at Marjorie who caught him at it and gave him a big grin that made him blush even hotter. “Yer a wicked woman, Marjorie Potts,” he scolded affectionately, breaking into his own grin when she let out a happy laugh and gently bumped her shoulder against his.

“Oh Mr. S,” she purred, going on tiptoe to press a kiss to his burning cheek and whisper, “Only as wicked as you want me to be.” He spluttered and looked back down at the ground making her laugh even more. “You really are a darling, Mr. S.”

He flapped a hand at her but he was smiling as he did so, at least he was until he spotted the familiar sleek black car parked bold as you please, next to the bookshop that loomed up ahead of them. She gave him a worried look when he stopped, following him into the mouth of a little alley, out of the way of the constant stream of people. “Are ye sure about this, Marjorie?”

“I am,” she said with a hint of apology. “You need to learn to at least contain it, even if you never use it. Eunice told me that will keep the nightmare Things out of our dreams.”

He let out a harsh sigh, rubbing a hand over his face and staring down at the ground as he tried to make peace with it. Part of him knew she was right, recalled things from his younger days that only made sense now that he knew that big magics were really real. “They’re not going tae want anything to do with me, Marjorie.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Mr. S.,” she murmured, running her hand soothingly over his arm. “Even if they won’t teach you themselves, they can help us find someone who will. They’re not bad people.”

“So you keep telling me. It’s not them being _bad_ I’m worried about, it’s them deciding they’ve had enough of me.” _And for you to decide the same thing,_ he thought, looking away from the understanding look she was wearing. He rubbed at his eyes and turned to look towards the shop again, stiffening when he saw Fell walking towards the shop, arms linked with a red-headed woman he didn’t recognize. Fell was talking animatedly to the woman, beaming fondly as the woman laughed at whatever it was the book-seller had said. “What the- who the hell is that?”

Marjorie turned to look as well, her expression going soft to see the two of them walking together, immediately recognizing Crowley under the superficial changes. “Isn’t that sweet.”

“What?” Shadwell said, staring at her in complete confusion. “But, but Fell’s, _you know_ ,” he said, discarding every word he would have used previously and instead letting his wrist go limp to get his point across. “Where’s Crowley? I thought they…”

Marjorie couldn’t help but laugh at the frustrated gesture. “Mr. S, that _is_ Crowley.”

She laughed even harder at the completely flummoxed expression on his face as he whipped around to look again, watching Fell unlock the shop while the woman did a scan of the area. He recognized the face beneath the sunglasses and shoulder-length hair, shaking his head in shock at the familiar ~~cocksure~~ , ~~cocky~~ , _cheeky_ smirk Crowley gave him before stepping inside and closing the door. “But… but ‘e looks so different!”

“I told you, they're neither and both and sometimes something else altogether. Even humans aren’t as simple as you might think,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “And Crowley didn’t change that much. A different cut of clothes, a new coat, longer hair. I do that all the time myself, with wigs,” she reminded him, not unkindly. “And really, if you’d seen Aziraphale as being a fussy bookish soft-spoken middle-aged woman instead of a fussy bookish soft-spoken middle-aged man, would you have assumed-” a flap of her hand as her wrist went limp.

“Er… No,” Shadwell admitted, looking down again, annoyed and frustrated with how complicated everything was now that he was trying to be a better person. “Different when a bloke’s like that. Wimmin are… expected to be that way. But now, ye really meant it, when you say they’re both... neither?”

“Yes.” She gave him a smile and patted his arm again. “I know it’s confusing, especially after thinking of them as men for so long. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think they care what you call them or how you see them,” she said. “Try to not fret about it, love.”

“I… all right. I don’t understand most of this, but I guess it doesn’t matter if I ever do.” He absently scuffed his boot against the little mound of detritus that had been swept into the alley, presumably by the rain, eyes going wide to see a flash of bright gold. “You have a tissue?” he asked her, accepting the tissue she pulled from her purse and carefully extracting what proved to be a golden ring from amid the debris.

Marjorie frowned as he wiped away the dirt, revealing the face of the ring. “That’s-”

“Fell’s ring,” Shadwell said, turning it around in his hands but being careful to not let the metal touch his skin. “Or maybe not. He- er, they?” He let out a little sigh when she nodded. “They never went without it that I’ve seen. I can’t imagine they’d be so careless as to leave something this precious laying in a gutter not a stone’s-throw away from their front door.”

“Let’s show them,” she said, catching his arm and towing him down and across the road and up the step. He didn’t resist, but he did sigh a little, seeing the pretty penny he’d have gotten for it whirling away down the drain.

**∞**

Warned of their likely imminent arrival, Aziraphale lingered by the antique cash register to welcome them inside and around to the private area by their desk. “Marjorie, Sergeant Shadwell, hello, do come in,” said Aziraphale, giving the man a smile and accepting a hug from Marjorie, slightly amused by the baffled expression Shadwell was wearing as he tried and failed to not stare at Crowley. “Everything alright?”

“Oh yes, Aziraphale dear, thank you for asking, just want a quick chat if you two have the time?” she asked, giving Shadwell a little nudge to make him stop staring.

The former demon hadn’t bothered to get up when they came in, settled comfortably into their usual shadowy corner of the couch, turned so their right arm was draped across the back, to better keep an eye on the door. “Wasn’t sure we’d be seeing you again any time soon,” Crowley teased, also amused by Shadwell’s continued confusion.

Marjorie grinned. “Well, everyone needs a rest now and then.” Shadwell blushed and turned away at their grins. “And I must say, you’re looking quite darling today, Crowley,” she said, smiling when Crowley’s eyebrows winged upward in surprise at the compliment.

“Thanks, Marjorie. You’re both looking… happy,” Crowley said with just a hint of a smile. “Suits you.”

Marjorie beamed at them both and looked to Shadwell, who gave her a tense nod and continued to stare unseeing at the nearest stack of books, hands clasped nervously behind his back. “Part of the reason we’re here is because Mr. S is thinking it might be a good idea to learn more about magic, if you can recommend a teacher? I’d like to learn more too.”

“Ah, you know, we might have the perfect solution for that,” said Aziraphale, waving for them to sit in the chairs by the desk. “There’s a witch who’s going to be working in Tadfield by the name of Miss Perspicacia Tick. She’s a teacher, a good one, who’d be able to help both of you if you’re willing to spend some time out in the country.” When they were seated, Aziraphale hesitated the barest moment before sitting down in the middle of the couch, beside Crowley.

Not so close they were touching, but close enough that Crowley’s hand was resting right behind Aziraphale’s shoulder and the reformed angel ran their fingers nervously over the familiar scales of the mood ring but didn’t look at Crowley, a little worried about what they might see in their expression. If they had even noted the gesture at all. _It isn’t much, really, by modern standards, to sit within touching distance of your best friend. Crowley probably won’t even notice,_ Aziraphale thought, unsure if that was what they wanted or not.

“Oh, do you really think so?” Marjorie asked, breathless with hope, and not just for herself. The nervous hesitance on Aziraphale’s part before sitting, the surprised stillness from Crowley, as though afraid of scaring some shy creature away, it was so wonderfully sweet.

They hadn’t sat so close together around others since… before the Fall, Crowley realized. Aziraphale was always worried about maintaining propriety, about keeping up appearances that they were no more than acquaintances when they were around others. Crowley made themself stop staring at Aziraphale’s profile and answered Marjorie. “Oh, er, yeah, yeah. Imagine we can find someone to rent your flats too while you’re away, cover expenses while you’re there.” They darted another look at Aziraphale. Until recently anyway. To the former demon the simple act of Aziraphale sitting with them felt more significant than linking arms or holding hands. They’d done those things as friends after all, so very long ago. But this. This felt like a _statement_.

Aziraphale relaxed a little at Crowley’s lack of response. _Overthinking things as usual. Silly._ “You know, Newt and Anathema are here in town for an extended visit and I imagine they wouldn’t mind having a little more room and privacy than staying with his mother. They’ll be by in a little while, once they’re done shopping.” Not that Anathema and Newt were actually staying with his mother, but they’d collectively decided during brunch that it made a more believable story of why they’d want to rent their flats. “Anathema will want to set protection spells, but I can’t fathom that being a problem.”

“Oh no, that’d be lovely,” said Marjorie before Shadwell could think to protest. “So much stronger when someone outside the household casts the protections. Less likely to be sloppy about it, and it’s harder to spot them, under the residual emanations of the people who live there. At least, that’s what it said in the book one of my discerning gentlemen gave me.”

“S’true,” Crowley said, toying with the pendant to keep themself from dwelling on what, if anything, Aziraphale sitting with them meant and instead focused on Shadwell who continued to struggle to keep from staring. “Ssso, what had you lurking in the alleyway, Sergeant Shadwell?”

“Uh? Oh! I, er was having second thoughts about asking yers about the magic,” he admitted. “So we stopped to talk. But then we found this.” He revealed the tissue crumpled in his hand, cautiously pulling the corners apart to reveal the gleaming heavenly mark, his eyes going wide when Aziraphale lurched back at the sight of it and Crowley sat forward and gripped their shoulder supportively. “I recognized the mark, we both did. It’s the one on yer ring.”

“Not by choice,” Aziraphale admitted, letting out a shaky breath and holding out their hand in silent request. Shadwell set the tissue with its burden down into the center of their palm and the former angel summoned a pencil from their desk to prod at the ring. “It was a mark, of my oath to heaven. And a shackle, to keep me bound.”

“It’s the ring Gabriel had, isn’t it,” Crowley growled, lip curled in a snarl of disgust.

“Yes, I believe so,” Aziraphale admitted, “but I’m unwilling to test it magically without protections in place. This could be a trap.”

Crowley grunted in acknowledgement of the possibility. “Maybe. But if we can pick apart the magic, it might give us a way in,” they murmured, low enough that only Aziraphale could hear. The reformed angel nodded, summoning up an enchanted cloth to muffle the ring’s latent power, and Crowley relaxed back into their spot, the backs of their fingers brushing against Aziraphale’s shoulder so lightly it could be dismissed as an accident. They asked Shadwell, “How much do you want?”

Shadwell noted the lingering contact, and how Fell had seemed to find comfort in it and blinked in surprise when Crowley’s words penetrated his confusion. “Oh, er, well, I’m thinking I probably could have gotten a few hundred for it,” he answered. “Especially from the American, seeing how she reacted to the compass I sold her-” His eyes went wide and his chair squeaked backward when Crowley lurched protectively forward again.

“What compass,” Crowley demanded, checking their pocket to ensure Aziraphale’s compass was still securely tucked inside.

“What American?” Aziraphale demanded, sending the silk cocooned ring into the safe back at the flat.

“Uh, er, there was an ad, in the paper, looking ter buy odds and ends of an ‘occult’ nature,” Shadwell said, giving Marjorie a grateful smile when she rested her hand on his arm. “I thought I’d test ‘er, see if she had a clue. Bought a dinged up bronze compass from this novelty shop-”

“Boffo’s?” Aziraphale asked, sharing a look with Crowley when Shadwell nodded. The former demon reluctantly pulled out the compass and held it up so he could see the gilded winged gryphon on the cover. “Did it look like this?”

“It might’ve,” Shadwell admitted. “It was a mess, manky green and battered, couldn’t really tell what was on it. Might not’ve had wings, now I think on it. I spun her a story about it belonging to me great granddad who’d vanished out in the desert and the compass was all they found. She et it up, gave me a hundred quid for it. That, er was before I came here on Friday.”

Resignedly Aziraphale asked, “Mrs. Karen Grimm? Richly dressed, young, blond?”

“That’s the one. She, er, she gave me the willies but.” He shrugged in embarrassment.

“Wait, so…” Crowley looked up from tucking the compass back away, an amused smirk tugging at their lips when they met Aziraphale’s eyes. “Now Karen thinks you’re Shadwell’s great grandfather.”

Aziraphale leaned back against the cushions, pinched the bridge of their nose and murmured, “Oh good lord.”

Crowley chuckled and briefly rubbed their knuckles against Aziraphale’s shoulder soothingly before miracling up a small roll of twenty pound notes and tossing it to Shadwell. “Here. For finding the ring.”

“Well, happy to be of service,” Shadwell answered, quickly stashing it away inside his coat. “Any other lost items I could go looking fer?”

Aziraphale chuckled and shook their head, thoughtfully asking, “You said there was an advertisement in the newspaper?”

“That’s right. Said collecting occult things was her husband’s life work or some such. More money than sense I’m thinking.”

Aziraphale hummed and turned to look at Crowley, who canted their head curiously. “What are you thinking, angel?”

“We don’t know what kind of magic she has.”

“No. But?”

“We could.” Aziraphale pursed their lips and looked back at Shadwell, who was startled by the shrewdness in their typically artless expression. “How would you feel about selling her more items, Sergeant Shadwell?”

He looked to Marjorie who shrugged and nodded. “What’s in it for us?” he asked.

“Whatever you can get out of her,” Aziraphale answered. “We just need you to get something into her possession.”

“Oh?” He blinked in surprise as Crowley frowned at their hand for a moment and then held up a ring that looked identical to the one he’d found and Fell’s old ring.

Aziraphale took the ring, nodding in approval of the very subtle spell Crowley had woven into it and murmured a brief spell over it, nodding with satisfaction. “I’ve put a protection spell over it, that should be enough of my signature to get her attention when she touches it. I’ll leave it up to you how you go about it, just let us know when it’s in her possession.”

“But be careful around her,” Crowley warned. “She’s got magic of some sort.”

Shadwell nodded, accepting the ring and turning it over in his hands. Somehow, in some way, it felt different from the other ring. Nicer was the best way he could put it. Even so, he didn’t want to put it on his finger, it seemed too obvious to suddenly be flashing a gold ring when he’d never worn any rings- “Er, any chance I could bother ye for a string? I figure if I wear it around my neck, she won’t be wondering why she didn’t see it the last time we met, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded in approval of the idea and miracled up a piece of brown leather cord, long enough for Shadwell slip over his head without difficulty. “Thank you, Sergeant Shadwell, for telling us, and being willing to meet with her again.” They slid a look at Crowley and said lightly, “I do hope you won’t meet the same fate as poor Witchfinder Major Milkbottle. Drained dry I think you reported? Poor fellow, terrible way to go.”

Shadwell slowly looked up from settling the cord around his neck, the wide guileless blue eyes offset by a tiny knowing smile. Crowley just smirked. “Oh. Y-ye knew? Both of you?”

“Had my suspicions,” said Crowley. “Didn’t realize it was literally just you until Tadfield.”

“You weren’t exactly subtle, Sergeant Shadwell,” Aziraphale said. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the officer names you’d added, when you began meeting with me on Captain Ffolkes’ behalf?”

Shadwell shrugged sheepishly. “Er, no. And now there’s not even me. No point in it, not that there ever were. ‘At’s why I thought to try the ad, you see? Keeping all that, that junk, and for what? Haven’t two bits to rub together and I’m sure there’s them who’d pay for some of it.”

“Yes. Us.” Aziraphale gave him a terse little smile when he stared in surprise. “It won’t do to have it fall into the wrong hands, Sergeant. But that can wait until you’re back from your sojourn to the countryside.” Both Aziraphale and Crowley started when the door opened, wilting a little in relief when the familiar voices of Newt, Anathema, and Agnes called out greetings. “Find what you were looking for?” Aziraphale asked, staying seated beside Crowley, smiling to see the phoenix and dragon emblazoned bag Anathema was carrying.

“Oh yes,” she beamed. “Hello you two! This is lucky, Newt and I were hoping to talk to you today.” She launched into her spiel, about not wanting Jasmine Cottage to sit empty while they’re visiting in the city, and having their own flat would make it so much easier and more private and the longer she talked the more Marjorie beamed at her and threw hopeful looks in Shadwell’s direction. “What do you say?”

Marjorie turned to Shadwell, clasping her hands together happily to see he was already nodding. “Oh, Mr. S!” She leaned over to give his cheek a smacking kiss, cupping his blushing cheek and wiping away the faint residue of lipstick that she’d left there. “Now we just need to talk to your friend Miss Tick and see if she’d be willing to teach us.”

“As it happens, we’ll be seeing her this afternoon if all goes as planned,” said Aziraphale. “At one o’clock, at a pub called Biers. Or we can give you her mobile number, so you can call her.”

Shadwell was lost in his thoughts for a moment and blinked when he noticed the silence, startled to realize everyone was waiting for his response. “Oh, er, how’s the food?”

“Good,” answered Crowley. “Plenty to choose from. We’ll be paying.”

“All right then,” said Shadwell, pushing up to his feet. “That gives us time to go to Boffo’s and get something else to sell to Mrs. Grimm.” He rubbed his hands together, smiling at the curious looks they were giving him. “Yer can’t just lead with the grift! Good way to give away the game, that. Got to let her work me around to being willing to sell it, see? Too precious to sell, all I’ve got left from me great granddad you know,” he said, putting on an act for them.

Crowley let out a laugh at Aziraphale’s resigned but amused sigh. The reformed angel said, “We’ll leave it in your capable hands, Sergeant Shadwell. We’ll likely be at Biers for a while, do stop in when you’re able to discuss things with Miss Tick.”

“Aye, see you there.” Shadwell helped Marjorie up and gave everyone a nod before escorting her outside. When they were down the sidewalk a ways he asked, “Are you alright with this, Marjorie?”

She linked her arm with his and smiled. “I’m fine with it, Mr. S. I wouldn’t want to put a damper on your fun. But promise me you’ll be careful,” she urged.

“I will. And, you, you could be my spotter,” he murmured, watching her sidelong. “I’ll see about meeting her in a park, won’t be out of place if you’re sitting on a bench nearby, eh?”

“Really?” Marjorie said, surprised and touched. “I’d love to! Oh, but maybe I should tone it down. Don’t want to attract attention, right?”

He considered and nodded. “And I should wear the witch-finder coat. Better to keep a consistent appearance. And it’ll help make her think I’m really desperate.”

Marjorie beamed at him. “How exciting!”

They stopped in at their flats and quickly changed before going to Boffo’s, Marjorie hiding herself under the boring clothes, a blond wig, and big movie-star sunglasses. Eunice was behind the counter, sorting through new inventory, waiting for closing time. “Marjorie, and Sergeant Shadwell, this is a lovely surprise,” she said, frowning slightly at Marjorie’s attire.

“I’m going incognito,” Marjorie explained with restrained excitement. “To be Mr. S’s spotter.”

Eunice slid a look at Shadwell, and he gulped a little at the look in her eye. “Just sitting in the park,” he explained hurriedly. “To call fer help if I get in over me head. She’s in nae danger.”

“And what will you be doing in the park?”

“Oh, er.” He looked to Marjorie, who nodded. “Weeell, you see, there’s an American woman who wants old occult items…”

Eunice broke into a grin. “Is that why you bought that manky old compass I had?”

He wasn’t sure how he felt to know she knew about that. “Aye. Told her it belonged to me great granddad who mysteriously vanished out in the desert.” He slid a look at Marjorie and admitted, “Who she apparently thinks is the bookseller. Fell.”

Eunice’s eyebrows arched skyward and a laugh bubbled up. “Oh dear. So you’re looking to sell her more, are you?” She slid a knowing look at Marjorie, who blushed and shrugged.

“For a good cause,” he protested, shrugging when Eunice pursed her lips disbelievingly. “Mostly. Fell an’ Crowley want me to sell her this,” he said, pulling the ring up from the depths of his shirt. “They, er, made it? To figure out what kind o’ magic the Grimm woman has.”

“Grimm,” Eunice said, expression shifting away from humor. “That a married name?”

“So she says,” Shadwell shrugged. “Says the old man kicked the bucket a few months back and the collecting of ‘forgotten history’ was his life’s work.”

“If she was married to who I think, she’s not lying, but it wasn’t for the purpose of preserving history,” said Eunice grimly, pulling out a couple of trays from the displays. “Had a couple of run-ins with Augustine Grimm over the years, said he was going to ‘take power from the undeserving,’ meaning everyone not like him, and use it ‘for the betterment of the country,’ meaning lining his pockets. Had a whole little cult going, only a bunch of them got killed in a so-called accident, wasn’t quite right in the head after that, if you know what I mean.”

“Sound made for each other then,” Shadwell said, looking the trays over. “She was real interested in the thing on the compass that matches the ring, anything like that?”

“Called a gryphon. No wings on it, right? Have a few more things in that style,” Eunice said, sifting through to pull out a small pocket knife, a snuff box, and lastly a wind-up fob watch with matching chain and charm, all in the same gilded bronze as the compass and emblazoned with a rampant wingless gryphon. “Not very popular, oddly enough. Had them for ages.”

“Good, good,” Shadwell said, looking them all over and nodding in approval. “Those’ll work a treat. Have to age ‘em a bit. No chance of anything else damaged like the compass was?” he asked hopefully, having seen the prices on the undamaged pieces.

“’Fraid not, but as you’re doing me a favor by taking them off my hands, I’ll give you the friends and family discount,” said Eunice. “Got some steel-wool an’ boot-black, if you’d like me to give them a little treatment before I box them up for you?”

“An’ how do ye know those tricks?” Shadwell asked, sliding a look to Marjorie, who grinned, clearly pleased to see them getting along.

“I supply a lot of props for theatricals,” Eunice explained. “And now there’s cosplay- that’s dressing up like a favorite fictional character. Quite a bit of crossover between the two. Not too much aging, being these are heirlooms, eh?” she said, proving to be an expert at aging them just the right amount. “That should do.” She rang him up and he let out a sigh to hand over a quarter of the money Crowley had given him, but it was a significant discount from their original prices so he didn’t complain.

“Do ye know where there’s a phone I can use?” he asked, slipping the boxes into his coat pocket. “Figure it’s best I not call her from our phone again,” he explained to Marjorie.

“Probably for the best,” she agreed. “In case she decides to come snooping.”

“One by the park, couple blocks south of here,” Eunice said, glancing at her watch with a thoughtful look. “I can show you, if you don’t mind two spotters, Sergeant Shadwell. Time to close up for the afternoon anyway.”

“Oh but, no, er, gathering today?” asked Marjorie in surprise.

“No, had a feeling I’d want the afternoon free.” She grinned at them. “Shall we?”

He could say no. He knew he could say no. The ornery part of him wanted to say no, but the sense of self-preservation that had kept him going in spite of himself realized that having an _experienced_ witch there to keep an eye out for him and Marjorie was not a bad idea. “Best yet if you two go ahead and settle in first, then I follow along, aye? I won’t leave the park until after she does and we keep our distance until we get to Biers at one?”

“Unless something goes pear shaped,” Eunice nodded in agreement, and gave him directions to the phone before showing him out and locking the door behind him. Marjorie helped her quickly close up the shop and together they left via the back door, shortly passing by Shadwell as he bought a tea with nine sugars and a packet of crisps from a food truck. “He’s changed,” Eunice couldn’t help but say.

“No,” Marjorie said. “He hasn’t really, not as much as it might seem. The language, yes, he’s making a valiant effort with that, but underneath- he thought he was doing what was right. What was necessary. And then everything went sideways and witches were on the good side.”

“Hmm. And the little drama that played out in the bookshop on Friday, that helped things along did it?” teased Eunice, cackling when Marjorie bit her lips to keep herself from grinning. “Thought so. You always did have a thing for bad boys.”

“He blushes far too easy to be a bad boy,” Marjorie laughed. “But he’s got a history too, enough of one to not blink at my own. It’s…” They walked for a while in silence, and Marjorie hesitated to finish her thought, almost afraid to jinx it. “It’s good, Eunice. It’s good and I-”

Eunice put her arm around Marjorie’s shoulder when the tears welled up. “And you haven’t had that before,” she said understandingly, giving Marjorie a gentle squeeze when she nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the white handkerchief Aziraphale had given her. “Then you grab on and don’t let go, Marjorie dear, but you stay focused on the here and now and don’t go borrowing trouble. I know you all too well and you’ll have yourself sobbing if you think too much.”

Marjorie laughed a little. “You do, and you’re right. And I am, but oh! I didn’t tell you, that lovely American witch, she wants us to stay in her cottage in Tadfield!”

Eunice feigned surprise, though not her enjoyment of her friend’s happiness, steering her to a park bench with a clear view of the phone box and settling them both down for a chat.

Shadwell shuffled up a minute later, his gaze settling on them for the barest moment before he made himself stop staring at Marjorie’s radiantly happy expression and step into the box to call the Grimm woman. He’d decided on a story on the short walk to the park and part of him wondered if all of this would be moot because she was too busy to meet with him.

He jumped when she answered instead of getting her voicemail. “Oh, er, Mrs. Grimm? This is Sergeant Shadwell, don’t expect you remember me-”

“Oh, Sergeant, of course I remember you,” she purred. “You allowed me to purchase your great grandfather’s compass on Friday.”

He let out a relieved breath and let his voice go hoarse. “I did, I did, and I hate to be turning to you this way, but I’m in dire straights Mrs. Grimm.”

“Oh, no Sergeant Shadwell, whatever’s the matter?”

“It shames me to say it, Mrs. Grimm, but I imagine a bright young lass like yerself already figured out how desperate I must be, to be selling you the last pieces of my inheritance. I shouldn’t, but they raised my rent and it’s coming due and I, I’d rather Great Granddad’s things go to someone who will care about them than some pawn shop who’ll just sell them to whoever.”

“Oh, Sergeant, I understand completely. Do you need to sell _all_ of the items you were telling me about?”

There was just a slightest edge of something in her voice that set off Shadwell’s internal alarms and he quickly corrected her. Mostly because he didn’t remember what he’d told her he had to sell. “No no, not _everything_. Just enough to get by on for a couple of months.”

“Ah. Well, still, I’m so glad you thought of me, Sergeant Shadwell. Shall I meet you at your flat?”

Shadwell shivered at the idea. “That’s mighty kind o’ ye, Mrs. Grimm, but I, er-” He cast about the park, finding what he was looking for with a soundless sigh of relief. “I just finished my lunch, near the Soho Square Gardens, if you’d be so kind as to meet me there? I’ve had to let the phone service go, ye ken, and there aren’t many telephone booths around anymore.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, Sergeant,” she soothed.

“Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Grimm. I’m on the north side, near the, well, you’ll find me, it’s not a big park. Goodbye.” He quickly hung up and went to find an empty bench within sight of Marjorie and Eunice. He settled in to wait, eating his crisps as he worked through the story in his mind, toying with the cord a little to ensure the ring would slip out when he bent over to pick up whatever was most convenient to drop when the time came.

“Sergeant Shadwell.” Karen smiled warmly when he jumped, already toying with the bauble on her necklace when he turned to stare up at her. She was carrying a small worn carpetbag that was quite out of place among her other expensive and stylish accessories. “I had hoped we’d meet again under nicer circumstances.”

Shadwell’s voice squeaked a little and he dragged his eyes away from the bead and the artfully enhanced cleavage she kept trying to draw his eye to. “Me, ahem, me too, Mrs. Grimm. I’m mighty grateful to see you, but terribly sorry to be bothering you on your day of rest,” he told her, crumpling up the crisps bag and his empty tea cup, gesturing for her to join him on the bench. He turned and tossed them into the nearby rubbish bin, neatly ensuring that they didn’t shake hands, having recalled how odd he’d felt after their last meeting.

She set the carpetbag on her lap and alighted on the bench quite close to him, patting his arm and scooting closer when he tried to scoot away. “Don’t be shy, Sergeant Shadwell. I’m sure you’d rather not have everyone seeing our business, now would you?”

“Oh, er, no,” he reluctantly agreed, staring down at her hand and the odd little tingle he was feeling even through his shirt and the heavy oiled canvas of the coat, like static making his hairs stand on end. “Just don’t want to make ye uncomfortable, Mrs. Grimm.”

“Oh, you couldn’t make me uncomfortable, Sergeant Shadwell,” she said throatily, giving him and his arm just the slightest frown before pulling her hand away. She went back to playing with the bauble and said, “So tell me what’s changed.”

Shadwell blinked and clamped his teeth together at the sudden vague compulsion he had to tell her the truth. It wasn’t a strong compulsion thankfully, though he wondered if part of that was from whatever Crowley and Fell had put on the ring. “Er, changed?” he mumbled. “They raised me rent, like I said.”

“No, Sergeant Shadwell, something is different about you,” Karen said, staring hard at his face, continuing to twist the bauble between her fingers so it caught the light. “You know you can trust me, Sergeant. That’s why you called me, isn’t it?”

Shadwell found himself nodding, eyes drawn back to that golden ornament, but his mind was racing. “To sell me great granddad’s things,” he mumbled. He didn’t want her to know he was resistant to her magic, who knew how she’d react to that, but he couldn’t tell her the real truth!

“But why now, Sergeant Shadwell?” she cajoled and reached out to rest the tips of her fingers against the back of his hand. “Hmm, you’ve had a lot of upheaval in the last few weeks, haven’t you? But, the last few days, something big in the last few days. Yes?”

He kept his eyes on the bauble, afraid of what she’d be able to see or do if their eyes met. “Yes,” he let himself admit, still trying to piece together a story that would make sense.

“A new relationship, no… an old relationship, but transformed in a way you didn’t expect into something new,” she said, frowning thoughtfully at the jumble of emotions she was reading from him. It was far from a science, her little power, and she relied on the reactions of those she was reading to tell her when she was on the right path. “You’re still trying to make sense of it, aren’t you.”

_That’s the truth!_ “Yer right there.”

“It must be family, as old as it feels,” she decided, putting a little more power into her compulsion. “Tell me.”

“My cousin.” Shadwell blinked, wondering where that had come from, but it worked, it worked and he ran with it and hoped for the best. “Haven’t talked in, in, decades, since the estate was divided. Wer’nt right, ‘im inheriting everything. Already had the bookshop-” He didn’t outwardly react when she gasped, but he wanted to grin, and he kept laying it on with a trowel. “I was the eldest, I should’ve got it! But just ‘cause I wouldn’t change my name like the old fart’s will demanded, it went to ‘ _im_ instead. Just had to change ‘is middle name to a Z, not like it mattered.”

Karen’s hand clasped tightly around his. “What’s your cousin’s name?”

“Angel, Angel Zerah Fell,” Shadwell answered. “Just like great granddad. Pah! Perfect name for ‘im, great holier-than-thou southern pansy,” he grumbled, looking up in feigned surprise when she gasped again and let go of his hand. “Er, sorry Mrs. Grimm, shouldn’t’ve said that, didn’t mean to offend.”

“ _Pansy,”_ she echoed under her breath with obvious dismay. When she realized he was staring at her she tried to play off her reaction as being for the slur and not for what it might mean for her plans. “Oh, well, I forgive you Sergeant Shadwell, but do mind your language,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “So, you’ve reconnected with your cousin, who runs a bookshop?”

“Yeah. Seems there was a scare or sommat, wanted to let bygones be bygones,” Shadwell said, watching her from the corner of his eye. “Gave me a few things from the estate an’ such to patch things up, not much use to me when what I’m needing is money, ye ken?”

“Yes, yes I see,” Karen said thoughtfully. Her expression shifted into resolve and she told him, “Well, I can likely help you in the money department, if what you have is appropriate for my late husband’s collection. If I might see them?”

“Oh, right right, sorry,” Shadwell said, pulling out the boxes and letting one slip and bounce to the ground. “Pardon.” He leaned over, letting the gold ring swing free of his shirt as he fumbled with the box until he was sure it had caught her eye before quickly hiding the ring again and picking up the box. “Should be fine, they made things to last in those days,” he said cheerfully, opening the box and nodding. “They was professionally cleaned when my cousin got them, in much better condition than the compass, which I, er, didn’t take as good a care of as I should.”

Karen could barely contain herself, to see three more items emblazoned with the wingless gryphon, but her mind was on that flash of gold she’s spotted around the old man’s neck. The items had only the faintest residue of magic about them, but that didn’t deter her any more than it had with the compass, as even the smallest dregs of power could be useful, if you knew how to work with them. “Oh, these are in excellent shape, Sergeant Shadwell. Your cousin took good care of them for you. But, are you sure you want to part with them?” she asked, toying with the bauble again. “No one to pass them on to?”

“Oh, no, never had time for a wife,” Shadwell said, not really feigning the flash of sadness that had him looking away. “The er, army was my whole life, ye ken.”

“And your cousin, with the bookshop?” she asked. “No babies of his own?”

Shadwell laughed, knowing he’d got her well and truly convinced if she was asking that. “No, they’ve no interest in that sort of thing-”

“They?”

Shadwell swore inwardly at the slip. “Oh, er, Angel and his… partner. They’ve been together since forever it seems,” he said. “Not married I don’t think, but some sort of arrangement anyway. None of my nevermind, especially now we’re mending fences.”

“His partner,” she echoed in an even fainter tone of voice, a sneer of annoyance curling her lip, a worrisome look in her eye as she turned towards him. “And you, Sergeant Shadwell, do you have someone special in your life?”

“Oh, I hope to be so lucky, Mrs. Grimm,” he answered, pointedly not looking in Marjorie’s direction. “There’s a lady I’m hoping will give me the honor one day- are you all right?”

Karen pretended her annoyed growl was just her clearing her throat. “Sorry, allergies,” she said, snapping shut the boxes and turning to face him before he could avoid her gaze. “I’ll give you three hundred pounds for these. But what I really want, Sergeant Shadwell, are items of a more esoteric nature. The unusual, the unexpected. The powerful. Do you have anything like that, Sergeant?” she demanded, no longer bothering with subtle.

Shadwell rocked back in his seat when their eyes met and her power rolled over him, but did nothing. “I, I have, I have a ring,” he let himself stammer. “Great Granddad’s signet ring. Should’ve come to me with the compass but they claimed it’d been lost. I made Angel give it over,” Shadwell lied, pressing his hand to where the ring rested under his shirt. “It was found in the desert too.” He slowly revealed it, watching her expression turn sharp with avarice.

She hooked a nail under the signet and lifted it to see that familiar engraving, flashing him a smile that was all teeth. “Name your price, Sergeant.”

“I, I shouldn’t!” he protested, and he didn’t have to feign his shock when she opened the carpetbag and flashed stacks of pound notes still in their cashier wraps. “Mrs. Grimm!”

“Name your price,” she said, slipping the other items into her coat pocket. “Anything you want, Sergeant,” she purred, flashing that toothy smile when he reared back again. “Anything.”

It had been years since Shadwell had done on-the-fly calculations while casing a likely mark, but he estimated, from what he’d seen in her bag, that she had over a thousand pounds, all in ten and twenty pound notes. His stomach sank to realize they were probably all counterfeits. “It’s all I have left, Mrs. Grimm,” he protested weakly.

“And you’ll get maybe a couple hundred for it, from a pawn shop,” she pointed out, eyes locked on the swaying gold ring. “Five thousand, tax free. More than you’ll see in years of sucking up to your pansy of a cousin and his bitch of a partner.”

His jaw dropped open in shock. “You, you sound like you know them,” he stammered, reeling from the thought of having that much cash.

“Oh, it’s a surprisingly small world sometimes, Sergeant Shadwell. Do we have a deal?”

Shadwell made a show of reluctance as he pulled the cord up over his head, but hesitated once he pulled the ring from the cord, though he wasn’t sure why. Something about her was setting off all sorts of alarm bells, but this was what they’d planned, what they’d wanted, and Marjorie and Eunice were both watching out for him. Hopefully. He let out a breath and let the ring drop into the palm of her hand. “Deal.”

It was like a physical blow when her power hit him the second time and his arms went limp, though he stayed seated upright. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, except for his eyes, though he didn’t look towards Marjorie no matter how he wanted to. Real fear made his guts feel like burning ice, and he was terrified to think she could make him do anything, say anything, with whatever she’d done to him.

She nodded in satisfaction, smiling down at the ring and sliding it on her right ring finger before asking, “Are the rest of your great grandfather’s things at your flat?”

Shadwell found himself answering in a monotone, “I don’t own anything from my great grandfather.” He cringed inwardly at the worryingly honest admission.

She let out a disappointed sigh. “You said there was a book written in a language you didn’t know. Is it in the bookshop?” She gasped in realization. “Are all of his things in the bookshop? That must be why the shop is so heavily protected and Fell’s resistant to my magic!”

“I don’t know what’s in the bookshop.” Beneath the fear was a sense of relief to realize she still believed him, that Fell was his human cousin instead of his immortal great grandfather. He didn’t know why that point was important, but he felt in his bones that it was.

Karen rolled her eyes with annoyance but pressed on. “So, Fell’s _partner_ , does she have magic?”

Shadwell struggled against the compulsion, but after a moment the “Yes,” came out in spite of his efforts.

“I knew it! Ugh. Damn it.” She thumped her fist against the bench in annoyance. “Where does Fell live? Probably with that damn Ashtoreth woman. It’s not the bookshop anymore.”

He didn’t recognize the name, though it was somehow fitting for Crowley. Hope surged when he realized the power of whatever she had done was fading, but he still answered honestly, “I don’t know.”

She made a disgusted noise and took his face in her hands, staring hard into his eyes. “Swear to me you won’t tell your cousin about me.”

There was no compulsion, because there was no cousin, but he repeated in the same monotone, “I swear I won’t tell my cousin about you.” He struggled against the paralysis when she pressed her lips to his and his heart thudded and skipped a beat as she drew _something_ from him before pulling away, looking not a day over twenty, her hair gleaming like polished gold.

“Well well well, you’re a man of hidden depths, Sergeant Shadwell,” she purred, pleased with the transformation. “When I figure out what to do about your cousin, you’ll be quite pleased to see me again. Until then, goodbye.” She tucked the old carpetbag under his still useless arm with a pat and walked away.

Shadwell closed his eyes as his heart continued to careen in his ribcage and he struggled to suck in breath after breath, trying to call out for help but unable to as he slowly collapsed sideways onto the bench. There was a rustle of cloth and he opened his eyes, afraid she’d come back, but it was Marjorie helping him upright, and Eunice, who pulled out a little vial of oil that she quickly dripped on his forehead. “Shit!” he exhaled, sucking in a deep breath and coughing, shocked to see some sort of red smoke puff out with his breath.

“Drink.” Eunice passed him a little flask and he didn’t even sniff it but toss back a drink, startled the find it wasn’t alcohol but some sort of mineral water that warmed him instantly against the chill of the paralysis. “That was interesting, eh?”

“Did, did she-”

“We waited until she drove away,” Eunice soothed. “She didn’t even spare a look at you though, I don’t know she even noticed you’d fallen over.”

“What the hell did she do to him?” Marjorie asked, her eyes alight with fury as she kept Shadwell braced upright, willing some of her energy into him, though she wasn’t sure it would be enough. “She kissed him and got _younger_.”

“Leeched away some of his reservoir of untapped power,” Eunice explained. “Rare ability, that. I don’t know that she realized what that was, or she might not have left you,” she told Shadwell, who shuddered. “It’ll replenish with some food and rest. What I’m more worried about right now is the mind control.”

“Weren’t,” Shadwell corrected, relieved that his heartbeat was returning to normal, the warmth from Marjorie’s embrace soothing away the last jitters of panic. “Froze me an' made me answer true, but only direct questions. And I didn’t know anything she wanted to know. Did make me promise not to tell me cousin about her,” he said, a relieved laugh bubbling up and escaping. “Oh lawks, Fell’s never going to forgive me now.”

“What did you tell her?” Marjorie demanded, her and Eunice’s eyes getting wider and wider as Shadwell relayed what had happened. “We should probably go warn them.”

Shadwell nodded and peeked into the bag of cash, letting out a very heavy sigh. “An’ what do we do with this? Can’t be spending fakes-”

“They’re not.” Eunice smiled at Shadwell’s expression. “They’re not fake, I’ve got a spell-” she pulled a bright blue glass eye charm from under her shirt, “-to tell me when it’s near counterfeits, and it’s not lighting up anything in that bag.”

He shared a look with Marjorie and then stared down at the bag, quickly closing it and tucking it securely under his coat, under his arm. “Do ye have a safe?” he asked Marjorie in a whisper, who shook her head, and they both looked at Eunice who waved them up.

“Come along then, we’re going to be late as it is.” She and Marjorie helped Shadwell to his feet, bracketing him between them in case he stumbled as they made their way back to Boffo’s.

He was already feeling like himself again by the time they got there, and once the money was safely ensconced in Eunice’s safe, she bundled them into her car and drove them over to Biers, parking by the back entrance. She held up a hand to stop them from getting out, giving them both, but Shadwell in particular, a gimlet eye that her sons couldn’t hold a candle to.

“This isn’t a normal pub,” she warned them. “Mundane laws don’t apply here. Witches and wizards are the very least of what might be in this place. You’re here under _their_ names, eh, so keep a civil tongue or neither angel or demon will save your hide, Sergeant.”

Shadwell, still shaken by his time with Karen, didn’t bother to protest. “Er, maybe just Shadwell from now on, ifen you don’t mind?”

“Shadwell it is. Some might try to test you, let them laugh, right?”

“I know the sort,” said Shadwell with a shrug, shrugging out of his witch-finder coat. No point in pushing it. “Just here for a pint and some food with some acquaintances, right?”

Eunice gave him an approving nod, and smiled at Marjorie when she pulled off the blond wig, fluffing her coppery curls back into place and putting on the brightly colored shawl Eunice had loaned her. “Stick close to one another. Sundays are busy times.”

Marjorie took Shadwell’s hand when he hesitated by the unobtrusive little gate, giving him an encouraging smile. “It’ll be okay,” she said, leading him down the dark alley between the buildings into the brilliant light and noise of Bier’s beer-garden.


End file.
